The Poison Goddesses
by TheBlondeBullet
Summary: When people start disappearing in Sioux Falls, Bobby calls in Sam and Dean. Once there, they discover they're up against something they've never faced before. Kidnap, torture, poison, mysterious strangers who aren't as they seem, deadly killings- anything is possible when you're in the middle of the Apocalypse. AU Post 5x08, Dean/OC, Sam, Bobby, Jo, Ellen, Castiel
1. A Thousand Miles Seems Pretty Far

**A/N- So, this is my first ever story on here. I've been thinking about attempting one for a while, but I wasn't sure how to go about it. But I've decided now to just take the plunge and see how this little endeavor of mine goes :). I've always been really excited about Supernatural and its characters and being able to have an opportunity to create a little piece of that universe is pretty awesome. Sorry this first chapter is so short- think of it as an intro. There is more to come ;)**

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Chapter 1

Dean winked at the statuesque brunette as he handed her his menu. "I'll have the bacon hamburger with extra onions, sweetheart. Oh, and a beer." A victorious smirk appeared when she flushed a deep crimson.

Sam rolled his eyes as he viewed Dean's painfully obvious pass at the now retreating female. "Can you _not _hit on everything that moves Dean?"

Dean wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Jealous Sammy?"

Sam scoffed. "Hardly Dean. She looks like she's still in college, for god's sake. Any younger and she'd be jailbait."

Dean put his elbows on the grey booth table. "Hey, the way I figure it, we just finished the mall salt and burn – we deserve a little reward after that nightmare."

Sam had to nod in agreement at that statement. They had just spent the last week being endlessly frustrated by this case they'd had tossed their way by Bobby. Young teens were being assaulted and scratched at the local mall in Springfield, Missouri by some invisible force, and only after a week of interviews, fruitless night tours of practically every single store in the mall, and property damage did they find the corpse of a poor girl in the rafters of the subfloor. Needless to say, it was all the chase without any of the excitement.

Sam nodded thoughtfully. "Ok, fine. Do what you want tonight, just drop me off at the motel beforehand." Obviously Dean had his mind set on certain recreational activities tonight, but that didn't mean he had to partake in them.

"Aw, come on, don't be such a stiff man. Get out there – I'm sure that there's at least one girl here who'll see that mop of a head and get turned on. I mean, miracles have happened before."

Sam raised his eyebrows at Dean. "Gee, thanks Dean. Tell me what you really think."

Dean's phone at that moment, blasting the five foot radius around them with Metallica. "Hold that thought," he said while holding up a finger. "Hey Bobby." He nodded a few times and glanced at Sam. "Yeah he's right here. No, yeah, we just finished up the mall thing. Hey, you try working with practically no physical evidence and the testimony of acne-ridden prepubescent's for a week, see how far you get! Mm-hmm. Suuure." Sam watched as Dean's face grew concerned and serious. His brows furrowed as Bobby delivered obviously bad news. "Course we can. We'll head on out first thing tomorrow morning. Yeah, no problem." He hung up and shoved his phone back in his pocket.

"Well, guess we're heading to Sioux Falls in the morning."

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**TBC- Please read and review! Thanks!**


	2. On the Road So Far

**A/N- Time for another chapter of my new story :) This one is much longer, so I hope that makes everyone happy! I really am pleased with how this story is shaping up - I have no clue how I never wrote fanfiction before, because I kinda love it. Thanks to AlaskaForever for the great review. Enjoy the chapter!**

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Chapter 2

Dean stared out the window as they sped along I-29 from Springfield to Sioux Falls. Before him all he could see was flat farmland filled with a patchwork of colors ranging from sun yellow wheat to the deep greens of soy beans. It was something to be said that he wasn't sick of this view yet. He knew he'd spent most (if not all) of his life on the road, and had probably drove every highway in the US three or more times, and yet it never ceased to amaze him. Granted, it was largely in part to the trusty Impala that he felt this way. Something about the fact that no matter where he was going, what he was going to face on his next job, he could always depend on his car. It was his rock, his anchor, and yet nothing made him feel more free. In this car, he knew who he was and what was important. 

Recently, though, that belief wasn't as solid as he would like. Ever since the Trickster – Gabriel, he kept reminding himself – had trapped them in his sick twisted television world and impressed on them to 'play their roles', he couldn't stop thinking about it, couldn't get it out of his head. He hated the son of a bitch for it. He hated not being 100%, vehemently against being Michael's sock puppet. He hated Gabriel for opening the doorway to maybe's, because if he knew Sam (and he did), Sam would find some way, _somehow_, to find a reason for Lucifer to wear him to the prom. Gabriel had shook his foundation, and Dean didn't want to be unsteady – it made him feel vulnerable. Obviously there was no good reason for Dean to even consider it. Obviously. Billions of lives lost in some bitch fight between two brothers, just to 'get it over with', as Gabriel put it? Hell no. Dean had more common sense than that. So why did everyone else seem to be for it? 

Dean glanced at Sam out of the corner of his eye, observing his eyes glued to the road. Usually Dean would've drove the whole way (it was only an eight hour drive), but Sam had offered to take over the wheel two hours back and Dean was content to munch on M&amp;Ms for a while. They hadn't spoken since they'd last stopped, and he couldn't help wondering what Sam was thinking. Kid thought too much for his own good. 

Sam surprised him by speaking up at that moment. "What's on your mind?" He snuck a glance over at Dean, and the look on his face just screamed 'Open up to me Dean – spill your guts. Let's have a heart to heart, and cry on each other's shoulders'. Dean tried his hardest not to roll his eyes, but he couldn't help bristling just a little bit. 

"Nothing much, really." He returned his gaze back to the endless fields. 

Sam actually snorted. "Really? You have your thinking face on." He was silent for a moment, eyes on the road, while AC/DC quietly filled the gap. "You can talk about it, you know. What the Trick- Gabriel said." 

"What's there to say Sam? He's a scared coward who doesn't want to face his family, so we're supposed to do it for him. Which we're not going to do." 

Sam did his 'you're not listening to me' huff. "I know. I agree with you, Dean. I'm just saying I don't mind talking—" 

Dean met him with a glare. "Sam. We're not going to do it. End of story." He reached and turned up the volume on the speakers, letting Highway to Hell course through the car and preventing any future conversation on the subject. He knew he was being a dick, but he also didn't care. Sam could talk himself in circles until he'd somehow convinced himself to say yes to Lucifer, and if he sensed Dean wasn't the solid pillar of strength he needed him to be, he'd just tumble all that much faster. 

They spent the remaining trip to Bobby's in silence. As they pulled into the ramshackle auto repair yard, Dean couldn't help but think 'finally'. He had the door open before the car was completely in park, and he could see Bobby's small build gracing the porch. Dean strode to the back, pulled out his bag, and ambled up to pull Bobby into a one armed hug. 

"Dean. Good to see ya boy. Sam, you too." He nodded to Sam as he trailed behind Dean. "Well, come on in, I don't expect ta spend all day out here." He turned and they followed him in. Dean was surprised to see a big, auburn head of hair planted firmly at the kitchen table, with a blonde behind her. 

"Ellen? Jo? I didn't know Bobby called you in on this," Den said, dumping his bag in the corner. 

Ellen took a gulp of beer, and set it back down. "And why not? This case is shaping up to be a big one. I guess Bobby figured he could use all the help he could get." Her lips were stiff but her eyes twinkled in a way to let Dean know nothing was the matter. Jo leaned against the table behind her mom, and raised her glass in acknowledgement. Dean sent a nod her direction. 

Bobby passed beers around. "You're darn straight I could use help. I've never seen anything quite on this level before. It's been 3 weeks, and 10 are missing – 2 the first week, 3 the second, and 5 people this past week. Whatever it is, it's left nothing for me to track or even identify it. I don't even have a pattern for the victims. It's taking teens to older folks, all ethnicities. They just disappear into thin air, no signs of struggle, nuthin. Jodi Mills is going nuts, and I have nothing I can tell her. So maybe I need some fresh eyes on this. All I know is it's gotta be fast, because we can't afford to lose anyone else." 

Dean plopped into one of the chairs, his eyebrows raised. "There's nothing? Seriously? Does this match up with any past cases of disappearances?" 

Bobby nodded. "Nothing. This son of a bitch is good. Which is why I called you guys in. I know John's journal is one of the best, most complete hunter's journal out there – I want you boys to go through it, see if you can find anything. Ellen, you go through Will's too. I'm going to see if I can't find anything on my end. And contacts, people. If you know someone, call 'em now. Maybe someone else has got a line on this that we don't." With that, he set his beer down and retreated to his den. 

Dean and Sam exchanged hugs with Ellen and Jo. Dean couldn't help but notice that Jo smelled like cinnamon and honey. He tried not to think too hard about it. 

Ellen appraised the boys. "It's been a long time boys. I thought maybe you'd call in sometime, give me some peace of mind." 

Sam chuckled. "Well, you know we would more often Ellen. But we've been pretty busy, what with the Apocalypse and all." 

Ellen scoffed. "Hey, don't think I don't know that. Me and Jo have been up to our necks in demon omens, weather signs, and just about everything else you can think of. This apocalypse has just about everything supernatural going stir crazy. It's been a bit of a nightmare." 

Dean saw Sam duck his head out of the corner of his eye, and he knew Sam was drowning in guilt. Honestly, part of Dean wanted to blame Sam too – after all, it was Sam who killed Lilith despite all the hinky signs, despite Dean's warnings. But he hadn't got back together with him just so Sam could beat himself up. After all, that was Dean's specialty, right? Dean bumped Sammy's shoulder, hoping the message translated. _Hey bro. Nothing to feel guilty about, mkay? Stop wallowing. _Sam caught his eye and gave a little nod. 

"So if you'd have to give it a guess, what do you think it is we're dealing with," Dean asked, hoping to draw in Sam's attention. 

Ellen frowned. "I'm not entirely sure. It seems like it should be easy, but it's not ritualistic enough to be a god, and I feel like demons wouldn't clean up their mess this well. It doesn't seem like it would be a shapeshifter, Doesn't smell like a spirit to me – the victims are too varied, too spread apart. At this point, your guess is as good as mine." With that, she turned and retreated back to the table and opened her husbands old hunting journal. 

They all settled in on the couches and chairs, flipping through pages of thick, yellowing books for similarities or signs. As the light in the windows faded and the piles of books surrounding them grew, Dean found himself growing more and more frustrated. For one thing, he wasn't exactly built for research. It's not that he never did it, but it was more Sam's forte. Dean didn't exactly have the patience or stamina to sit still for this long. Secondly, he didn't even know what he was looking for. It was like a blind man groping in the dark. 

Finally, when the words seemed to blur together and lose all meaning and he was sure he'd read the same sentence several times without really taking it in, Dean slammed the book shut. Sam jumped a little and even Bobby looked up from the aged pages he was reading. "Find something?" 

Dean shook his head as he grabbed his jacket and his keys. "Nope. I can't concentrate. I'm going to get some air. Don't wait up." Everyone exchanged looks as he headed out the door, letting it slam behind him.

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**A/N- TBC. Thanks, and don't forget to read and review! :)**


	3. Drink On It

**A/N- I am super excited about this story! I just finished the outline for the whole thing and now I'm super excited to write more. As you can probably tell, since I've updated like 3 times today. Obviously, this will slow once I get back to school work. Enjoy the chapter!**

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Chapter 3

The house was silent for a moment as they all listened to the Impala roar to life and rumble out of the repair yard. Bad Moon Rising played softly on the radio in the living room until the Impala could no longer be heard.

Sam cleared his throat and chuckled nervously. "It's… don't worry. It's just typical Dean. He can't stand sitting here and researching and not being able to actually _do_ anything. I'm actually surprised he stayed and researched as long as he did. It's kind of a record for him."

Bobby shut his book and leaned back in his worn chair. "I've actually been meaning to ask about him… well, about both you boys. Is something the matter? Cause Dean seems a little edgy. More so than ususal."

Sam stared at his hands for a moment while his thoughts gathered. "Yeah, somewhat. I mean, you know that the angels are saying – that me and Dean are the vessels for Lucifer and Michael." Bobby nodded his agreement. Jo and Ellen both made their way into the living room, Ellen with concern in her eyes and Jo watching, analyzing. "Well, recently we ran into Gabriel, another archangel. You've actually seen him Bobby – he was moonlighting as the Trickster on that case you helped us with."

Bobby grunted. "That head case? An archangel? All righty then."

Sam chuckled. "That's what we said. Anyway, he caught up with us, and long story short, he kept trying to impress us with the fact that we should 'play our roles' in the Apocalypse. You know, us saying yes. Honestly, I didn't think much of it. I wouldn't say yes to Lucifer. But Dean has been…quiet… since we ran into him. I can't really tell what he's thinking."

Jo spoke up from beside her mother. "You don't really think he'd say yes do you? That doesn't sound like Dean to me."

Sam shook his head. "No. It doesn't really make sense. He was adamantly against it – more so than me even. The reason we started hunting together after we split up was, in his words, to keep us both human."

Bobby sighed. "Listen to me Sam. Dean is fine. You know the first thing on his mind, now and forever, will be to protect you. And saying yes to Michael would be putting you in harms way, either as Lucifer or yourself. So stop overanalyzing that idjit. You know why he left—"

"He hates research with a burning passion."

"—and where he probably went."

Sam snorted. "Yeah. A bar. To drink beer and hit on any women he can."

Bobby nodded. "You're darn right. So let's give him his space and let him brood in peace."

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In the center of town, a bar was exactly where Dean could be found. He was slowly nursing his first beer, and when Sam had called the second time, he'd turned off his phone and shoved it in his pocket. He didn't need mothering, or protecting, or counseling – whatever it was that Sam thought he was in desperate need of, he didn't need it. Especially not with Sam.

He looked up from his beer, and following his instincts, cased the place carefully, taking stock of everyone in the joint. It was a relatively crowded bar, but not in a crazy or overwhelming sense. The booths and bar stools were full, but everyone here seemed to know each other and the air had a small town feel to it. Everyone there seemed slightly weathered and Bobbyish, complete with plaid shirts and a fair share of trucker caps. Only a woman and two men in the corner booth stood exception to this – her purple slinky dress reached the floor and caught Dean's roving eye immediately. It wasn't gonna be one of those nights though.

He tapped the bar with his pint, and watched as the blonde bartender made her way over. Her hair was a light golden that reached down to her belly button, and was accented perfectly by a grass green tank top. Dark, tight jeans covered what sounded like cowgirl boots. Light, piercing blue eyes met his as she filled his glass.

She gave him a slight smile. "Looking for someone?" She had noticed his wandering eye.

One side of his mouth slid up into a sexy smirk. "Not anymore sweetheart."

She grinned. "Does that usually work?"

The smile slid off his face and he stared at her for a second. "Usually, yes."

She slid his pint back to him and raised her eyebrows expectantly. "Huh. Now_ that_ is a surprise."

"Hey, it's been a rough night, and I have to admit, that wasn't one of my best."

"You don't say. But lemme guess- one look into those candy apple green eyes and I'm smitten."

He shrugged. "Generally that's the way it works, yeah."

She cocked her head and appraised him for a second. "Well, then most girls have been letting you get off far too easy."

"But not you?" Dean had to admit, this woman was fully in control. He didn't have a problem with that – in fact, it reminded him of Cassie, the tiger he used to date when Sam was at Stanford. Yes, typically the women he ended up spending the night with were a little more pliable with a little less fire, but that's because it was easier. Quality took time, and when you were on the road, time wasn't one of the things you typically had.

She leaned forward, hips against the bar, and gave him a knowing smile. "Well, I am a bartender. Saying I get hit on is like saying the sky is blue or pigs make great bacon."

Dean nodded. "Of course, so you've heard it all and then some."

"Course. But that doesn't mean I don't give points for creativity and effort. By the way, _are _you looking for someone?"

Dean observed the way she circled back to her original question. There was no distracting her. And here he was supposed to be interrogating her about the town woes. "No, just looking around. Seeing the sights."

"You're new here." It was a statement, not a question.

"Is it that obvious?"

Her smile said it all. "It's Sioux Falls. I see most of the town in here at some point during the week, and know most by name. And you, I have not seen. And I would remember you."

Who was the one flirting now? "I'll take that as a compliment."

She winked shamelessly. "Feel free. Any reason you've decided to visit our fair city?"

His hunters instinct kicked in, the one that told him to lie unabashedly. "I'm just in visiting family. I heard there have been a lot of local disappearances around?"

She nodded. "There have been a few."

"More than a few, I heard. 10 people in the past 3 weeks – that's up there in serial killer territory."

"Maybe. Or maybe some monster has taken a liking to our town." She smiled to let him know she was kidding, but Dean couldn't help but be surprised at how on point she was. And how quickly she got there. _Could she be a hunter? _It was possible – this was the environment hunters enjoyed, if Jo and Ellen were any indication. She certainly seemed confident enough.

"You never know."

"You don't peg me as the type of man that believes in ghosts and vampires."

Dean looked at her, really looked at her. If she was a hunter, he didn't feel like she would dance around the subject so much. Most hunters knew who Sam and he were, could recognize them. Maybe she wasn't a hunter. After all, if she were one, she'd be doing something about this case, and Bobby had never mentioned any other hunters in Sioux Falls. And he would know, right? "Maybe I'm just willing to keep an open mind about things."

A smirk. "Oh yeah? Werewolves?"

"Of course. Change during the full moon, silver bullet through the heart will kill em."

She smiled, clearly amused that he was playing along. "Specters?"

He supposed there wasn't any harm telling her the truth. If she was a hunter, he was probably passing some test, so she knew she could trust him. And if she was a civilian, then this was just a game to her. Ha. "They're like ghosts, but they sense your grudges and make you act on them."

"You're like a walking encyclopedia of weirdness," she said resolutely, while pulling on black leather jacket and scooping up a black leather purse from under the counter.

Dean choked on his beer, coughing as it went down the wrong pipe. He had said the exact same thing to Sam a few years back. But then again, it was all relative. Compared to Dean, Sam was weird, but compared to normal people, they all could have been committed years ago. Still, the irony wasn't lost on Dean. "You know, I have never been called that before."

"That must mean the company you keep is equally or more weird."

Again, right on the nose. "You have no idea."

She graced him with a smile again, and Dean felt himself smiling right back. "Well, I will give you this – this exceptional conversation ranks up there as one of the weirdest I've ever had. And that's counting the fact that I entertain drunk people for a living. Unfortunately, my shift is over. But maybe I'll see you around while you're in town, and we can have more interesting talks on fantasy creatures. Or anything else." He followed her with his head as she walked around the bar. She leaned in and gave him a peck on the cheek. "See ya later Dean." She turned on her heels and walked out the door.

Dean turned back to his beer. The place where she kissed him tingled, and it only took him a second to realize that without her here to talk to, the bar and the beer held no interest for him. He already missed their witty banter.

As he headed for the door, he couldn't help but think about the way her lips caressed his name. He'd definitely be willing to have her say his name again, just in a completely different context. And he would…

He stopped just outside the door, thinking it over and rechecking in his mind. It had struck him, and now that he thought about it, he was sure he was right.

He'd never told her his name.

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**TBC- Please read and review. I welcome all opinions (although try to keep it constructive), and ideas! If possible, I may work some into the story :)**


	4. I Got a War in My Mind

**A/N- Another installment of Poison Goddesses. Enjoy!**

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Chapter 4

Sam awoke with a start, his heart beating like it was trying to break out of his chest. He wiped at the sweat dripping down the back of his neck and shook his head for good measure, just to get the image of Lucifer out of his head. He could still hear his sickly sweet persuasive words in his ears. _I just need one night without Satan in my dreams. One night._

Glancing over at Dean's bed, he saw rumpled sheets and his brother's bag, but no Dean sprawled across the top of the covers. _So, he never came home last night. Great. _That was just what Sam needed – a manhunt for his brother when they were already trying to track a monster with a death wish for all of Sioux Falls. 

After shoving on a shirt and jeans, Sam ambled down to the kitchen and was shocked to see Dean sitting at the kitchen table with Ellen, Jo, and Bobby, all chowing down sausages and pancakes. Dean looked up from his mountain of food. "Morning sunshine," he greeted through his mouth full of food. Sam grabbed a plate and pulled up a chair. 

Dean swallowed and looked at him, amused. "We were wondering if you were ever gonna wake up, Sleeping Beauty." 

Jo gave him a once over and smiled. "More like Beast, with that bed head." Dean chuckled with her. 

Sam returned his gaze to Dean. "So, Dean, did you even make it in last night?" 

Dean gifted him with a irritated scowl. "Yeah, Sam, I did. You happened to be asleep, so I didn't check in, yeesh." 

Sam rolled his eyes. "Ok, whatever. Get anything info-wise at the bar besides the bartender's number while we were stuck here researching?" 

"No, I didn't." Something seemed to strike Dean and he glanced at Bobby. "Hey Bobby, are there any other hunters in town?" 

Bobby tore himself away from his plate, and Sam was bemused to see pancake in his mustache. "Uh, no, no one that I know of. I'm pretty sure most hunters know this is my territory and I take care of it. I only called in all of you guys for this, no one else. Why do you ask?" He peered at Dean curiously. 

Sam was watching Dean carefully; he seemed deep in thought. "Do you happen to know the waitress in Buck's? The blonde one," Dean asked. 

Bobby nodded. "I've seen her, sure. What's this about Dean? I know she's not a hunter." 

Dean's brow furrowed at that. "Are you positive? I was talking with her last night and I just… She knew my name, Bobby, and I didn't even tell her it. Not to mention I brought up the disappearances and she immediately pawned it off as something supernatural. I think she was joking but… I don't know." 

Sam frowned, staring intently at Dean. He didn't like the sound of this. Apparently Bobby didn't either, as he leaned back in his chair and said, "I'm pretty sure that she'd not hunter, Dean. Did you happen to get a look at her through a camera? Say Christo?" 

Dean bristled at that. "She's not a _monster_, Bobby. I know evil when I see it, ok? I was just wondering out loud here." 

Sam couldn't believe it. For weeks Bobby had been scouring Sioux Falls for clues, and now Dean stumbled upon something, and refused to see it for what it was. That was so _Dean_. It was a pretty girl, so of course she couldn't be anything evil or hurt anyone. So long as Dean had the opportunity to get laid, right? 

Sam started slow. "Dean, this is the first real clue we've got. For all we know, she could've been using the bar as a location to pick victims. I feel like we should follow this." 

Dean stood up angrily. "Sam! She's not the son of a bitch that's ganking people! You haven't even seen her, let alone talked with her, and already you're jumping to conclusions. Call off the witch hunt, will ya?" 

Sam stood, and enjoyed the look on Dean's face as he stood over him. "You don't know that Dean! You haven't done any of the tests, so what's your proof, huh? She's hot, therefore she can't be a killer? Well I'm sorry if I don't trust your gut feeling on this one – chances are, it's not your gut talking!" 

Dean's jaw clenched and Sam knew he'd struck a nerve. "Oh, you do not want to talk to me about that Sam. Who do you think you are, trying to pass off your insecurities, your doubts on me? It was you that trusted Ruby time and time again, no matter what I said. It was you that she convinced to drink demon blood. Lemme guess – she was hot, therefore you could trust her? Well look where that got you Sam! We're in the middle of the freaking Apocalypse! And I'm not you!" 

"This is not Ruby, this is completely different! She's – " 

Ellen and Jo sidled between them, each facing and pushing back a fuming Winchester. "Ok, boys, that's certainly far enough. You two need to keep your cool, and pull your heads out of your asses. Or have you forgotten we have a job to do here," asked Ellen with a surprisingly cool tone. 

Sam peered over Jo. "I haven't forgotten. Which is why I think we need to check this girl out. If she's a lead we need to know." 

"She's not a lead," Dean growled. 

"Okay," Bobby said. "Here's what we're gonna do. We're going to split up, because we have two of the victims houses we can still check out. Ellen, you come with me and Sam to the Steinhoff house. Jo can go with Dean to the Green residence. After that, pending nothing happening at these two houses, we can check out the bartender." 

Not saying a word, Dean snatched his jacket off the back of his chair and marched outside to the Impala, leaving Jo to scurry behind him and Sam to glower at his retreating back. 

The Impala rolled up to the pristine white suburban house. The house was lined with pristine trimmed bushes, and dark flowers hung from baskets on the porch. Dean stepped out and looked up at the second story with disdain. "This is like a model house for the Stepford life. Gross." 

Jo nodded as they headed up the front walk. "Agreed. Too white and sanitary. Give me the Roadhouse any day." 

They quietly picked the lock and headed inside. Alexander Green had obviously spent a decent amount of his paycheck at Pottery Barn. The kitchen was a blend of steel appliances and black tile, and the living room was all cool colors and carefully placed knick-knacks that Dean was sure had no actual sentimental value. He searched the house up and down for hex bags, signs of voodoo, symbols, anything while Jo walked the halls with the EMF meter. They met in the middle, frustration clear on both of their faces. 

Dean sauntered over to the refrigerator and drew out a small dish of spaghetti wrapped in plastic. "Really," quipped Jo, eyebrow raised, as she perched on a counter seat. 

Dean shrugged. It's not like anyone is here to actually eat it. And who am I to let it go to waste?" 

Jo went back to tracing patterns on the granite countertop. "Hey, Dean, look at this." He turned, and saw what she was pointing at. There was dirt loosely scattered all over the counter. Some had even spilled on the floor. 

"Okayyy… So we have what? Potting soil? Attack of the evil daffodils? Revenge of the roses?" 

Jo shrugged. "I don't know. I don't actually see anything here that needs soil. It could be a coincidence." 

"Maybe." Dean turned to Jo. "So…Jo…" 

Jo sighed. "What do you want Dean?" 

"Well…you don't have your heart set on going to Buck's, do you?" 

Jo raised her eyebrows and glared at Dean. "I was under the impression we were all going. Why shouldn't I go?" 

"I'm not gonna convince you otherwise, am I?" Dean crossed his arms, resigned. 

Jo flashed him a smug smile. "Nope. No way." 

Dean rolled his eyes and headed for the door. "All right. We'll finish up here and get going." 

Jo nodded and started putting everything back to where it was before they'd ransacked the place. And then she heard the Impala rumble to life and speed down the street. "Seriously?! Balls." 

Back at the house, Bobby was bent back over his books with a bottle of whiskey nearby. A thudding behind the house was evidence of Ellen throwing knives against a post, a habit she got into whenever she was frustrated and needed an outlet. Sam bustled around the kitchen, making a light sandwich while they waited for Dean and Jo to arrive back with news from their crime scene. Sam hoped they had more luck than his group did – the house was clean, except for some loose potting soil on the table. It wasn't a lot to go off of. 

As he sat down to eat his sandwich, Sam had to admit that that morning during their less than civil argument, Dean had a point. It was Sam's insecurities that he was pushing on Dean – he felt nothing but regret for trusting Ruby over Dean. Through her female charms and his demon blood addiction and his need to prove himself as strong, Sam had ended walking into the biggest trap of his life. And now, he just didn't want Dean to do the same thing. 

The door slammed and he looked up to see Jo walk in, dirt crusting the sides of her jeans and boots. She was alone. "Where's Dean?" 

She snorted. "Your asshole of a brother left me in front of the Green's house first chance he got. I didn't even have a warning or nothing. He just hightailed it back into town. I figured Bobby's was closer, so I walked the seven freaking miles here." 

Sam was already up and out the door before she finished. Dean was headed back to the bar, and Sam was _not_ letting him go alone.

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**TBC- Please read and review :)**


	5. Lay Down Your Arms

**A/N- Things are coming into light! Finally, some clues are revealed. I've come to realize I really love chapters with Sara in them - she's new and exciting, and I think she challenges Dean in a way that females don't often do on the show. If they were to introduce a character like her on the show, I'd be all for her. Dean deserves happiness - not that that reveals anything about this story ;) Thank you to the lovely AlaskaForever for her insightful reviews ;) ;)**

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Chapter 5

Dean eased his way into the bar. It was midday, so there were far less occupants than the night before. The only people he recognized was the woman in the purple dress, dark flower in her equally dark hair, who was sitting with a middle aged balding man. And then there was his mysterious bartending friend. 

Dean eased himself onto a barstool as she headed his way. Today she wore a long sleeve black t shirt with ripped light wash jean shorts. As she approached, the sunlight from the windows settled upon her hair and seemed to make it glow against her black shirt. Her accompanying smile seemed to glow with its own form of light. 

"Dean. I swear, you're back so soon it's like you never even left." 

He flashed her a smile to match her own. "What can I say, I couldn't stay away." Even as he said it, he was surprised to find there was a ring of truth in his statement. 

She laughed, and Dean found himself hanging on to the soft peals as they rang through the air. "I'm flattered. Of course, you look like you're familiar with the bar scene, so maybe it's just the fact that I serve alcohol that's drawn you back in." 

He was silent for a moment as he watched her tan hands rub a glass smooth, circling and polishing. "You know, it's funny. You seemed to know my name last night, but I never got yours." 

Her light blue eyes met his, and Dean could see the twinkle of amusement behind them. "You're right. We should definitely alleviate that problem. I'm Sara." A hand detached itself from cleaning, and he shook her hand firmly. 

He nodded thoughtfully. "Well, I'm glad to officially know your name Sara. Which kind of brings me back to my point – how did you know mine." 

A corner of her mouth twitched as she looked at him knowingly. "What can I say. You just look like a Dean Winchester to me." 

At that, the door to the bar opened, and the bell hanging from the wooden frame clanged, announcing another patron. Dean spared a glance from Sara only to be met with Sam's glare. The one that actually made him want to quickly disappear before he was skewered or shot full of rock salt. "Hey Sam." 

"Dean." Sam's voice was iron and steel, and when he grabbed Dean's shoulder in a way of greeting, it was less of a pat and more of a 'if we weren't in a public place, I'd break your face' type of thing. Dean almost had the urge to gulp. Sam looked at him for a second and the message he sent was crystal clear. _Don't take me not knocking you unconscious as a sign that what you did was ok. I'm going to interrogate her, and you're not gonna have a problem with it, mkay? Mkay._

Sara wasn't oblivious to the exchange between the two. She remained silent for a moment, and then asked, "Is there anything I can get you?" 

"Yeah, a beer would be great." As she bustled around, Dean could see Sam's eyes evaluating and assessing her, trying to see a tell or sign that she was something supernatural. As she returned with the beer in hand, he handed her a money clip full of ones. "For the drink." 

She took it and pulled out what was needed, fingering the clip as she did. "Nice clip. You know, most people nowadays cheat out on them, get those carbon fiber knockoffs. But this is really nice inlaid silver… with iron backing?" Dean practically saw Sam deflate a little as she handed him back the clip, and he couldn't help but stifle a little grin. That just got rid of dozens of potential monsters. _Take that little bro. _He had to admit, though, it was nice to know she wasn't a spirit, demon, fairy, leprechaun, phoenix, shapeshifter, skinwalker, wraith, djinn, lamia, pishtaco, and a few other things. He was liking his odds right about now. 

Sam nodded, his mood a little less superior now that he'd been knocked down a peg. "Yeah, my dad got it for me." 

She nodded understandingly. "Seems like a great graduation gift." She looked between the two of them. "Let me guess Dean, this is the family you're in town to visit. Your brother?" 

"Yup, Sammy's my younger brother." Sam looked shifted a little at this reveal of information to a stranger. 

She turned to Sam. "Well it's great to meet you Sam. Let me tell you, if you are anything like your brother, then I'm sure conversations with you are equally as fascinating. Your brother has quite the imagination." 

Before either of the brothers could respond, the bell on the door gave a muted jingle and a rough male voice shouted into the air. "Alright, everybody, hands in the air! This is a stick up!" 

They all turned, and before them stood a man with his face covered in a black ski mask, with a black hoodie and blue jeans. His eyes, dark and beady, were narrow and calculating. A pistol was in his hand, and was pointed right at Sam and Dean. Clearly he knew who the potential threats were here. He was right – Dean had already started reaching around his back for his special piece, but stopped when the gun was pointed right at him. Slowly he put his hands back in the air. Everyone else at the bar had their hands up, and a woman in the corner started to sob. 

"Hey, bro, just chill ok? No one needs to get hurt here." Sam, always the voice of reason, was calm and steady. Dean was glad it was Sam talking for the moment – all he wanted to do was cuss out the guy and insult his intelligence. Either that or stand in front of Sara. 

The man cocked the gun and repointed. "Shut up man!" He turned his head to Sara. "Give me the money. NOW!" Sara nodded slowly, her eyes steely, and opened the register. 

It happened so fast. One second, the man's eyes had slid back to watch Sam and Dean, and then BANG. A shot reverberated in the bar, and Dean was shocked to see the man, not Sara, drop to his knees. A quick glance showed Sara standing behind the bar, a .45 Colt in her hands. Sam and Dean both leapt out of their seats, Sam to grab the gun away from the mask man and Dean to leap over the counter to Sara. 

He gently wrested the gun away from her and took her into a deep hug. Her shoulders were trembling slightly, but she stayed silent as she returned the hug and buried her face into his jacket. They stood there for a while, her pressed against him and his head rested on hers. Dean couldn't help but notice her hair smelled like… mangoes. Or maybe oranges. Something citrusy and sweet. _She's not crying. She could've just killed a man, and she's not even crying. I knew this girl was made of hunter material._

Sam's voice carried over the bar. "Dude, she got him in the hand. He's losing blood, but he's fine." 

Dean separated himself enough to peer down at her. She stared up at him, her blue orbs magnetic and seemingly bottomless. "Did you do that on purpose?" 

She shrugged. "Duh. I can aim you know. Killing a man isn't exactly on my bucket list. I figured if he was gonna walk in here and shoot until he got what he wanted, he didn't really need to use that hand." 

Dean laughed at that, and he even heard Sam chuckling. What a girl.

* * *

They both headed out fairly quickly after that. Somehow, Sara seemed to understand their aversion to having the cops take a statement – but then again, she seemed to understand everything. They piled into the Impala and headed back to Bobby's. 

After a moment of silence Sam spoke up from the passenger's seat. "I'm sorry Dean." 

Dean waited for a moment, rolling the words around in his head. "Sorry for what Sam?" 

Sam's words came haltingly, full of deliberation and hesitation. "Sorry for… doubting you. For making this out to be more than it really was. Sorry for assuming you were making the same mistakes I was… when clearly you're not." 

"Thanks Sammy." 

Sam was silent for a moment more and then spoke up again. "You understand why I make the assumption though, don't you?" Dean said nothing, so Sam continued. "Sara was… an easy explanation. We had no other clues… _have _no other clues, and suddenly you're talking about a suspicious girl, one who knew you. It just seemed so _obvious. _Granted, since when has our luck ever been that good?" 

Dean chuckled. "Hah. Try never." 

"Exactly… I am sorry about jumping to conclusions though. If anything… she's intriguing. Not really monster material though." 

"Hah, I know that Sammy. I never pegged her for a monster, but there is…something…about her. She's different." 

Sam was quiet for half a beat. "Do you see it, I don't know, going anywhere?" 

Dean spared a glance at Sammy, then returned his eyes to the road. "I don't know. This life isn't really easy on relationships of any type. And this _is_ the Apocalypse. At the same time… I haven't felt this way about anyone since Cammie. I don't know Sam, you're the long term relationship guy, not me." 

Sam smiled at his big brother. "You know, if there was ever anyone to give it a go with, it'd be her."

* * *

Bert unlocked his door and sidled into the dark house. He plopped his keys onto their respective hook and tossed his jacket onto a nearby chair. Reaching for the light switch, he flipped it, but nothing happened. _Huh. Must have blew a fuse. Maybe I left something on…Damn, I'm hungry. _He'd ordered a burger at the bar that afternoon, but a shooter had come into the bar and held up the place. Nothing really happened – the situation was diffused when the bartender shot him in the hand, but the police had then arrived and it had taken hours for him to get out of there. Still without his burger. 

He sighed as he made his way in the dark to the kitchen and opened his new fridge. The thing was relatively empty except for some dip and beer. _It'll do. _As he munched on some chips, he thought back to his date – the sultry Mia. He'd known it was his lucky day when she stopped him at the super market and asked him on a date. It was almost too good to be true, but hey, when he pinched himself, she was still there. During lunch (what little they had of it, anyway), he couldn't keep his eyes off of her. She was a California nine, he was more of a South Dakota three. With her long, silky black hair, magnetic amethyst eyes, and purple floor length dress to cover those beautiful womanly curves, she was more a match for the model guy at the bar, not him. 

As he turned to face his dining room, still munching on his chips, he noticed a vase on the island of his kitchen. Tucked inside the long neck were what looked like black irises, and upon closer inspection he saw the flowers had blood red tips and a deep purple inside. He'd seen that flower before, hadn't he? He just couldn't remember where. When he leaned forward and sniffed the flowers, he almost coughed from the strong scent. They smelled sickly sweet; it burned his throat going down his windpipe. 

His vision started getting dark at the corners, and the scent seemed to swirl in his mind, clouding thoughts and coherency. He slid down the side of the island, drifted off into an unsettling slumber.

* * *

**TBC- Please read and review- I love to hear comments, questions, concerns, thoughts, ponderments, and any other things you can regale me with!**


	6. Every Rose Has Its Thorn

**A/N- Things are getting interesting! I'm excited. By the way, I kind of love writing from Sara's viewpoint.**

* * *

Chapter 6

The next morning, the family of hunters gathered in the kitchen to review what they knew over hot eggs, bacon, and toast. Unfortunately, what they knew couldn't even fill a post-it note. After all, what could you really do with loose potting soil as your only lead? 

"This is crazy. How could ten people be missing without a single trace?! They didn't just up and vanish", Jo grumbled. Her mother patted her, trying to console her. Jo had never been very good at the patience part of hunting. 

Bobby's phone buzzed and he checked it before looking back at them. "Balls. Better make that an unlucky thirteen." 

"What?!" echoed around the table. 

He nodded grimly. "Jodi just sent me an update. A couple, Bruce and Jeff Blake, has been missing for a day, and last night a man by the name of Bert Warren disappeared. Crime scenes look about the same as the others." 

"You wanna check the homes anyway though," Sam asked, already gathering his jacket. His furrowed brow was echoed on the faces of everyone there. 

Bobby sighed. "Might as well. Maybe we get lucky and the perp leaves something at either of these crime scenes. Heck, I don't know. Sam, I think you should stay here. Double check the phone records, banks accounts, anything you can get your hands on. Between thirteen people, there has to be some common denominator, whether it be churches they go to, doctors they see. Hell, if they grew up in the same neighborhood, I want to know. Dean, you're with me." Everyone nodded and headed for the door as Sam retreated to the living room. Little did Dean know, despite what Sam had said the previous day, Sara was going to be included in his search.

* * *

On the road into town, Bobby fiddled with the radio, and then let it alone. "So, you and your brother mend fences?" 

Dean was checking his gun, but he looked up as Bobby spoke. "Yeah, on the way back home last night. He apologized for passing judgement so fast." 

"Well, she pass monster inspection?" 

"Yup, just like I knew she would." 

"Hey, don't go blamin' your brother for throwin caution to the wind. We're on a job, and it was a lead I'm glad he followed through on. Now we can know for sure that she's at least out of the suspect pool." Bobby grinned. "I wouldn't mind seein this girl that's got you in knots." 

"Shut up Bobby."

* * *

Once at the crime scene, Bobby distracted the lead detective while Dean did a sweep of the house, an eye open for anything witchy or spirity or overall supernatural. Of course, he turned up with more of the same – fine dirt on the island of the kitchen, and nothing else. His anger boiled over a little, and he kicked a nearby cabinet, only catch a picture frame before it smashed to the ground. Turning it over, he looked at the man staring solemnly back into the camera on the edge of the grand canyon, complete with an overlarge walking stick and a beige floppy hat. Dean could see the man was pale, had little hair, was slightly overweight, and had a round nose. 

Dean frowned. He had seen this man before…the previous day. At the bar, sitting with the woman in the borderline provocative dress. That was right! His mind sped, and suddenly it seemed like the pieces in his brain were fitting into place. The woman had been there the night before too…with two men. He'd be willing to bet his sawed-off that those two were the missing couple. 

He walked with purpose back outside, where Bobby was just finishing up with the investigator. Bobby leaned toward him as the man walked away. "Find anything?" 

"Yeah. Well no…" 

"Which is it boy?" 

"Keep your mustache on. I didn't _find_ anything exactly, but I saw a picture of the guy. He was in the bar yesterday with a dark-haired woman in a purple dress, who was there our first night with… guess who?" 

Bobby's eyes widened. "The couple." 

"Yahtzee. She is our common denominator. Whoever she's with ends up being the next target. I should've known, she sticks out like a sore thumb." 

Bobby was already making his way to the car. "You couldn'ta known. We were a little sidetracked with your whole cryptic bartender problem, remember? Let's go." 

Dean nodded and glanced back at the house for a second. Something caught his eye – the dark flowers lining the walkway to the house. Suddenly he was flashing back to the first house him and Jo investigated, which had hanging black flowers on the front porch…and the bar yesterday, where the woman had sat with Bert, a onyx flower in her hair. This was no coincidence. He took a bag from out of his pocket and inserted a flower head into it, gently pulling it from the ground. 

"What are you doing boy?" Bobby was half in, half out of the car, watching with confusion as Dean bent over the rows of flowers. Dean quickly got into the car with him. 

"This flower was at the Green house, and in the woman's hair. I don't think it's an accident that it's here too." 

Bobby took the flower in a baggy from his hands and looked at it carefully. His eyes narrowed. "I'm pretty sure I've seen these at some of the other crime scenes." He looked back at Dean. "You're on fire today, boy." 

Dean smirked. "Thanks old man." 

"Don't push yer luck."

* * *

The bar had emptied considerably after the lunch rush. It was now 3 p.m., and it was too late for lunch, and too early for dinner, and the bar showed it. There were only two people seated in tables – Frank Wesson, the notorious drunk of the town (not counting Bobby Singer), and the woman who'd made herself a regular these past three weeks. Sara and the other bartenders had just taken to calling her the Woman in Purple, seeing as how she never really let a name slip. Sara played around with the name Lavender Lady in her head – it had a certain ring to it, even though the dress was more a royal purple, much richer in color than lavender. 

As she cleaned off the counter with a damp rag, for lack of better things to do, Sara glanced at the woman. She was alone today, which was unusual. Usually she was sitting with someone, sometimes two people. Sara wasn't an idiot. She had worked here long enough, knew enough of the townspeople to know that the people the woman sat always disappeared the next day. There was something about that woman – she could sense it. There wasn't anything she could do about it though – she vowed a long time ago that she wouldn't get involved, wouldn't use her skills anymore. That wasn't her life. 

She turned around, organizing and cleaning the rear counter that all the other bartenders neglected. As she did, her mind wandered. She may not be able to do anything about the situation their town was in, but Dean Winchester and his brother were more than capable. They'd handled far worse and walked away victorious. Or so she'd heard. She personally wanted to see it herself – the tales about those two had grown exceedingly tall, and she had to admit she was curious to see if they were worth the hype. Sam she hadn't really gotten a good read on for the few moments he was in the bar, but Dean was another story altogether. When he'd walked into the bar, she sensed him before she even saw him. Confident, cocky, flirtatious, stubborn… charming. They'd hit it off, and she knew even he didn't know exactly why. She could certainly see why the others were so opinionated about him. 

She rolled her eyes at her introspection. It wasn't like anything was going to happen anyway, so she didn't know why she was even thinking about it. It was silly of her to even consider it…right? Right. Of course. Stupid. He was off limits, especially to her. 

"Excuse me? I was wondering if I could get a refill." Sara jumped a little and turned. The woman in purple sat on one of the barstools, empty glass pushed forward expectantly. Sara hadn't even heard the woman walk across the rooms. 

"Of course." Sara grabbed the martini glass and filled it back up, plopping on olives in for taste. When she turned back the woman still had her eyes fixed on her, following her every move. Her head was slightly cocked, and a smile twitched at the corners of her purple lips. 

Sara pushed the martini her way. "Need anything else?" The woman's index finger traced along the tip of the martini glass. 

"No, I'm all good. Perfect, in fact. It's a beautiful day, the sun is shining, and I'm about to become very, _very_ lucky." The woman's voice was smooth, like water, and wrapped around Sara like a silk noose. 

Sara met her eye. "Is that so? I wouldn't be celebrating quite yet if I were you. Who knows who could come along and spoil your luck." 

Suddenly the woman was standing beside her, a wicked smile spreading across her face. Her eyes flashed red. "I don't think so. You want to know why? I'll let you in on a little secret. You're going to help me. Because I know your little secret. Or, should I say colossal secret. Let me just say, it's an honor to meet you." Suddenly she dissipated into a cloud of obsidian smoke, twisting around the bartender. 

Sara crumpled to the floor like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Her vision blurred and darkened, and she couldn't fight the darkness that swirled around her and covered her like a blanket.

* * *

Dean and Bobby pulled up beside the bar moments later. Nodding to each other, they stealthily snuck up to the front door, Bobby with a silver- carrying pistol and Dean with the Colt. They both ignored the closed sign posted on the door and the darkened windows and slipped in to the bar. Inside, the silence was overwhelming – usually a bustling center of the town at any given point in time, the bar's quiet seemed stifling. 

Dean went and checked out behind the bar while Bobby checked the booths. Finally they grouped back together. Dean shook his head. "I got nothing." 

Bobby held up a black leather wallet. "All I found was this – initials on it are F.W. Could be Frank Wesson, he's here most hours of the day. But no sign of our purple clad monster." 

Dean glanced around, a frown taking over. "Isn't the bar supposed to be open? Why would it be closed?" 

"I dunno. It's possible she was here." 

Dean threw up his hands. "Of course she was here Bobby! This is where she's been this whole time! So where could she possibly be now?" 

"I don't like it any more than you do Dean. I suggest we head back to my place – we have more evidence than we've ever had, maybe it'll lead us to where she's holing up, or even what she is. Knowing a little more about what we're up against never hurt anybody." 

Dean nodded, but he didn't like it. Something about this felt off, like something was in front of his face and he just couldn't place his finger on it. Why was the bar closed? Why wasn't the woman here? Why the flowers? His gut was telling him something was going to happen, or was happening right now. Dean felt it to his very core, and he couldn't shake it as they returned to Bobby's car.

* * *

**TBC- Read, review, tell me your innermost thoughts, whatever ;)**


	7. All My Dreams Pass Before My Eyes

**A/N- Another installment of Supernatural :) Thanks to AlaskaForever for your awesome reviews - your kind words are heartwarming. **

* * *

Chapter 7

_Dean ambled slowly along the center of the road, weaving in and out of the yellow segmented line. In and out, side to side…like a wave on the ocean, or an inchworm scooting its way along the ground. The moonlight caught the edges of the tree branches and mailboxes and cast long, distorted shadow here in suburbia. All the houses had lights on in the windows, spilling like honey onto the dark lawns. Dean caught glances of children's heads bobbing up and down and mothers kissing fathers over casseroles and briefcases. He looked away. Somehow, he knew those houses weren't for him. He didn't deserve those houses._

_He got the sense that he needed to be looking for something. It pressed on his brain, demanding to be known, but he couldn't bring himself to find out what it was, no matter how hard he scratched. What could he possibly find on this road?_

_Passing one house, he glanced in and jumped when he saw John and Mary, his mother and father, holding a baby Sam as 4 year old Dean jumped up and down, clamoring for a look. His mom was laughing, rubbing her hands through Dean's hair, and John only had eyes for Mary as he gripped her shoulder tight, a grin wide across his face. As Dean looked through the window, he could've swore his heart stopped beating for a second. He didn't know if this was a memory or just an illusion, but it meant something nonetheless. They were happy here in this picture – even more, they were safe, because they were together. As a family._

_Dean could've stayed at the window all night, soaking in his Mom's laughter or his father's smiles, but the tug he felt was pulling him on down the road, away from his family and toward… something else. It was important, he knew that much. Whatever it was needed him, urgently._

_Passing another mailbox, he was surprised to see a leather jacket hanging from it, shifting slightly in the breeze. _That wasn't supposed to be there, was it?_ Looking down the walk at this house, he saw the lights were out in this one, unlike any other on the block. The dark windows stared blankly back at him. Behind their shrouded depths was whatever was pulling him, like a lamb to the slaughter._

_Opening the door was surprisingly easy. Just twist and pull. This bothered Dean as he walked inside. He should've had to unlock it. The door should've been locked._

_Inside the house was dark, and Dean could only see from the faint moonlight streaming in from the large living room window. Something, whatever it was, was here, and it was very, very wrong. Dean's tingly hunter senses were going haywire._

_Something was peeking out from behind one the couches – a flash of blonde, bleached white by the moon. Dean narrowed his eyes, and then it hit him – Sara. In a flash he was around the couch and stooping to her prone form. Her eyes were closed and her chest was moving up and down. _Ok, alive. Good._ She was alive. But rope on her hands and gag in her mouth sent Dean's heart into overdrive again. _I have to save her… _He reached for the restraints…_

Dean shot up gasping like a man who'd just been deprived of air. For a moment he sat and tried to catch his breath, tried to force air into his lungs, but they wouldn't cooperate. Maybe it was his brain – it felt like it was going haywire. _Sara. It had Sara. _The thought only caused his hyperventilation to worsen. Somewhere to his left there were footsteps, but his brain couldn't connect the dots as to what that meant. Nothing was working, nothing was connecting, he was getting light-headed, make it stop he needed a breath dammit it he just needed some oxygen and oh shit things were getting dark at the edges breathe dammit Dean… 

"Dean! Breathe dammit!" Sam was suddenly next to him. Panic was strewn across his features and Dean could see a wild light in his eyes. "With me, just look at me Dean and do as I do…bring in…out…in…out…yeah, yeah, see, you're gonna be ok. In...out…" 

Slowly and steadily Dean's breathing evened out, to the point where Dean didn't feel like his lungs were going to explode or start dancing on his gave. In and out, right? This was supposedly easy shit. _Come on guys, do your job. _Dean blinked and looked at Sammy, who was looking at him like he'd just lost an arm or a kidney. 

"Are you ok? I just woke up and it sounded like you were in heat or something. What's wrong?" Sam the inquisitor was back. 

Dean thought back to his dream while his breathing settled back into a regular, quiet rhythm. What he saw was still splayed across his vision, permanently etched across his retinas. It was like he was seeing her in real time, like he was really there beside her, reaching for her. But that couldn't be real, could it? He didn't have those capabilities – it was Sam who had extra, weird gifts. Why was this different? 

Dean looked back at Sam, his eyes wide and his hands shaking. "Sara. She's in trouble." His voice cracked on Sara's name. 

Sam's eyes bore into his. "Dean…are you…are you serious? How could you know that? Is that what you dreamt about? Are you sure?" 

Dean nodded. "I…I saw her Sammy. She was in a house and she wasn't moving, and I tried to help her but then I woke up. We have to save her." 

Dean quickly hopped off the bed and yanked his shoes on. That's what he had to do – he had to save her. He was vaguely aware of Sam trailing behind him as he headed out of their room and trooped down the stairs, saying "Dean, wait, hold up…". 

"DEAN!" Before he was out the door, Sam's gigantic hand grabbed his shoulder and yanked him back. Dean felt anger unfold somewhere inside him, and it slowly coursed through his veins like a drug, burning everything in its path. "Dean, stop. Just… just think this through for a minute before you go barreling in, guns blazing." 

Before he could stop himself, a growl slipped from between his teeth. "Sam. Do you not understand what this means? Don't you_ get_ it? Sara's been taken. They, or it, or whatever the hell is doing this has her. If we don't do something, she's going to end up like all the other people we haven't been able to save. Dead. She's going to be dead Sam. And I can't let that happen. I _won't_. Not if I can do something about it." 

Something was emerging in Sam's eyes that looked suspiciously like pity…and realization. "We're not going to let that happen Dean." 

"What going on here boys?" Bobby had joined the two quietly, and his insightful, crockety eyes didn't miss a thing as they danced between the two brothers. 

"They have Sara. I'm going to go save her," Dean said brazenly. 

"That so," Bobby asked. 

"Yes," Dean replied stiffly. 

"Well, go on then. Save the girl. Defeat the beast. Oh, I forgot to ask – how exactly are you going to do that, pray tell? Because, I figure the only way we can properly do this whole hunting thing is to know what we're going up against and how to gank the son ofa bitch. You tellin me you already got it figured out? If so, do tell. I'm dyin to hear what your theory is." 

Dean's jaw clenched shut and he saw a flash of red as he stared at his father figure, who he never resented more than that moment. He was so angry his blood was boiling inside him. "Bobby, I'm going. I can't just sit here." 

Bobby took a step closer to him. "Listen here boy. I get it, I really do. Whatever this is has taken too many people and we've got to stop it. It's our job. But I can't ignore the fact that you've given me good, solid evidence to work off of, and you still want to charge in like a half cocked idjit. Give me some time, and I guarantee I will find you all I can so we can go in smart." 

Bobby's logic was irrefutable. Dean felt the anger ebbing away, leaving a sort of buzz that made him feel drained and fidgety at the same time. He nodded numbly. "I just…we have to find her Bobby. I can't…" 

Bobby placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know Dean. I know." He guided him to the living room and he plopped down on the sofa. He was aware of the others around him, talking and referencing the books they had spread out around them, but the words didn't seem to permeate his skull. The shadows on the floor grew longer as the sun set and night crept in. 

His brain kept returning to the same thought, like it was playing on a loop. _He had to save Sara._ He had to. He couldn't just sit here and do nothing. That wasn't Dean. Dean was the Hulk – he smashed and roared, and asked questions later. He was an immovable force, hellbent on his goal. Dean couldn't think, couldn't research. That was Bruce Banner's job, which Dean was not. Sam was his Bruce Banner, and Dean just couldn't tap into that reservoir of patience and logical reasoning. That's why he had Sam. But Dean couldn't just sit here surrounded by ifs, ands, or buts, by words that meant nothing to him. Dean had to _do_ something. _He had to save Sara._

It was like a switch had been flipped somewhere in his brain. Slowly, as if his motions weren't in his control, he found himself making his way to the kitchen. Sam's eyes were practically burning a hole in him, but he felt them drop as Dean did what he normally would – grab a beer out of the fridge. He stood there for a moment, holding the cold drink in his hand, and then slowly made his way to the front door. After opening the door carefully, he slipped through and set the door carefully back against the frame. Not a peep. 

His feet steered him across the junkyard, his feet quietly padding against the noises in the night. He was well aware that he probably shouldn't be driving in his condition and he got into Bobby's quieter cars and took off down the road. He was numb, numb to control and numb to emotions. His limbs were functioning separately from his own, and everything seemed detached and irrelevant. _He had to save Sara._

Where his arms were steering him to, he knew not, but it didn't bother him. Wasn't numbness preferable to all the pain of knowing that Sara might as well be dead? If this monsters track record was any indication, she couldn't be saved. Clearly they were battling something out of their league – it was every bit as devious as a demon, but had the cunning and wit to leave no fingerprints, leave no traces. Sure they'd seem a flower that looked suspicious. But where had that really gotten them? Nowhere. 

Dean's heart clenched as he realized Sara's name might go down on their list of 'people you probably could've saved'. So many innocents, so many people like Sara who were powerless against immense forces like werewolves, demons, and gods out for their blood. People like Sara couldn't protect themselves, not from forces that realistically should only exist in fairytales or nightmares. That's why people like Dean and Sam existed – to protect the innocent, and take a stand for humanity that no other people in their right mind would do. They were champions for the weak. But they couldn't always do enough, couldn't always be enough, as this life forcefully reminded them time and time again. 

_Is this what Sam felt like when Jess died? Or Madison? _Maybe not. Sam had stronger ties with the loves he'd lost, whether it was Jess, whom he was about to marry and the yellow eyed demon killed to 'keep him on his toes', or Madison, who he'd only slept with, but then had to kill himself so she wouldn't harm others. Dean hadn't had ties like that to Sara. All he had with her was potentials and maybe's. If he was being truly honest with himself he knew that it would probably just amount to a one night stand. That was safest. He couldn't allow himself to think about more. He couldn't allow himself to think about what could have been. 

After all, this was the life he had committed to, the life he had returned to again and again. He knew underneath it all he and Sam both resented how different it made them feel, like it separated them from the rest of humanity. It gave them hardships and deaths and struck them down again and again, but they both returned to it each and every day because it gave them the rare opportunity to change the world in the way they knew best. This life gave them a way to save innocents. All it required of them was complete dedication – no weaknesses, no cracks your enemies could get through. Love, in this world, was a weakness. 

Dean knew Sam had it harder. He wasn't really programmed to love and leave like Dean was – when Sam loved, it was genuine and long lasting and he was the most devoted man a girl could find. Sam was the marrying type. And as much as that wasn't Dean, he wanted that for Sam. He wanted to see his brother happy and safe, somewhere in suburbia with a minivan and a mortgage to complain about and a wife that loved him and 2.5 kids that he adored. As much as he teased Sam, as good as Sam was, he deserved that, Lucifer's vessel be damned. 

Dean…Dean was a different story. On one hand, he was good at being a ladies man. He could pick up women without trying, and in this life it was something he used effectively. On some days though, when he was being unusually introspective, the thought crossed his mind. Did he want a family? Yes. The answer surprised even him sometime. And Sara…Sara was someone he wouldn't have minded doing it with. 

When Dean focused back on the road, trying to let his thoughts dissipate as they caused too much pain, he was surprised to find himself in the same suburban town he'd walked in his dream. Somehow, his subconscious had found the place. _Not that my subconscious should be the one driving the car…_

As he petered off on the gas, he found the house he was looking for. The house where he'd found Sara in his dream. There were no leather jacket hanging on the mailbox, but he'd know that house anywhere. 

His heart beating insanely loudly in his ears, he exited the car and made his way toward the house. Honestly, he didn't know what to expect. He had the Colt in one hand, a gun carrying silver bullets in the other, and a machete in a sheath hanging along his belt. A canister of holy water was in his pocket. Realistically, he was about as prepared as he would ever be. 

The door opened quietly in front of him, and warnings sounded in his head. This was so, so wrong. He knew that, but that couldn't stop him even if he wanted to. He was here on a mission, and like a man on a mission, he planned to see it through. _He had to save Sara._

His hunter eyes scanned the room, looking for anything at all. He crept further into the house, his every sense tingling, adrenaline coursing through his blood stream. 

There it was. A hint of blonde hair splayed across the floor behind the sofa, and Dean's heart stopped. It wasn't just a dream – this was real life. 

One step toward Sara, and that was all it took. One step had Dean fading into unconsciousness as Dean was struck from behind and fell bonelessly to the floor.

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**TBC- Please read and review! I encourage everyone to review- reviews keep me going, and I always enjoy reading them.**


	8. House of the Rising Sun

**A/N- A little bit of a longer wait for this chapter, and honestly I don't think it's one of my better ones, but that's because I'm excited for the next chapter - a little action, and answers to their questions! Thanks to AlaskaForever for her continued support and incredible reviews!**

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Chapter 8

_There is a house in New Orleans_

_They call the Rising Sun_

_And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy_

_And God I know I'm one_

Sam flipped a page in _Herbs: Magical Plants and the Spells They're Used In_ as Bobby's radio started playing House of the Rising Sun softly on his weathered radio. The whisper of the rock music was the only sound that permeated the living and dining rooms, aside from the crackle of old pages being turned and soft sighs that echoed when one of their number shifted or grew frustrated. 

_My mother was a tailor_

_She sewed my new blue jeans_

_My father was a gamblin' man_

_Down in New Orleans_

Sam couldn't blame anyone for their agitation at this point – they'd been reading into the night, and had yet to find anything on their mysterious dark flower and what it could mean for whatever they were up against. It was obviously an obscure reference; Sam had looked through several books on spells and the herbs they required, and he had yet to find anything. Even he had to admit things were looking more than a little hopeless for their little group. 

_Now the only thing a gambler needs_

_Is a suitcase and trunk_

_And the only time he's satisfied_

_Is when he's on a drug_

Sam peeked to his left on the couch and saw Jo's head dip and jerk back up as her eyelids fluttered. Despite the coffee, they were all pretty fried and sleep deprived. Even Sam with all his late night studying experience at Stanford was beginning to feel dregs of sleep pull at the corners of his subconscious. He shook his head, trying to keep his vision from blurring and the words from sliding from his brain. Even Ellen was blinking furiously in an obvious attempt to stay awake as she bent over the kitchen table. Only Bobby seemed to be resisted the need to sleep, his eyes intense on the book that seemed to cover his entire desk with obscure symbols and elegant cursive handwriting. 

_Oh mother tell your children_

_Not to do what I have done_

_Spend your lives in sin and misery_

_In the House of the Rising Sun_

Despite his exhaustion, Sam was glad they had something to stay up and research on at all. Earlier, when all they knew was that people were disappearing, it was unbearable. All they could do was sit and watch helplessly as people vanished into thin air from their very homes, unable to do anything at all. Now, at least, they had a lead. It didn't feel like they were in a rowboat without paddles, drifting without actually being able to control their course. Now they had real, solid evidence to work with, something to prove they weren't just going crazy. 

_Well, I got one foot on the platform_

_The other foot on the train_

_I'm goin' back to New Orleans_

_To wear that ball and chain_

Sam was just happy to research, and he knew it was thanks to Dean that they had this flower at all. Dean had managed to piece together the flower as the common denominator between these disappearances, and honestly, Sam wasn't at all surprised. He may have been the resident researcher aside from Bobby, happy to stick his nose in a book, but it was Dean who was the real hunter of the two. Actually, if Sam was being honest with himself, Dean was probably one of the best hunters out there, period. He had obviously inherited John's natural-born ability to hunt – somehow, Dean always seemed to have a sort of sixth sense, his displays of speed and agility matched those of Olympic athletes and his aim was deadly accurate with a rifle or handgun. Sometimes Sam couldn't help but be jealous of how easy hunting came to his brother. For him, it was as easy as breathing, but when John had started teaching Sammy he came with reluctance, feet dragging the ground. 

_Well, there is a house in New Orleans_

_They call the Rising Sun_

_And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy_

_And God I know I'm one_

Speaking of Dean… Sam tore his weary eyes away from the sentence he was sure he'd probably read three or four times. His hazel eyes roved the kitchen, where he had last spotted Dean grabbing a beer. Since then he'd thought Dean had gone to the bathroom or simply ran outside to get something, as he often did to avoid research, but now… maybe not. He was just realizing he hadn't seen Dean in a while – obviously, he'd been distracted with research. 

No need to panic. Dean could be upstairs, he thought as he rose to his full height and headed toward their room upstairs. Reaching their room, he took in Dean's empty bed, sheets still rumpled from Dean's nightmare. He quickly peeked into the remaining rooms on the upper floor and headed downstairs. Almost numb, he headed outside and made a quick lap around the junkyard in case Dean had opted to work on a car for Bobby. As he headed back inside, he could feel his chest tighten with worry. _Where are you Dean?_

Ellen looked up as he entered the kitchen. "Have you guys seen Dean? I can't find him anywhere." 

Bobby looked up from his giant book as Ellen shook her head. "No honey, last I saw him he was getting in here getting a beer." Even Jo sluggishly look up from her book. 

Sam started pacing. "I saw him then too, but now I can't find him in the house or the yard." His feet slapped the linoleum floor, and he could feel his hands start to shake at his sides as a mixture of anger and fury directed toward his brother manifested in his stomach. 

Bobby looked at him with sympathetic eyes under the brim of his cap. "Sam, calm down. He's your brother, he wouldn't do anything—" 

Sam came to a stop and slammed his hands down on the kitchen table. "What, stupid? Since when Bobby? Dean is _always_ doing stupid shit because someone's in trouble. Remember, he feels like he has to save freaking everyone. And now Sara is in trouble, and god forbid he wait until we actually have something on what we're fighting here. That freaking idiot—" 

Bobby spoke over Sam's steadily rising volume. "Hold the phone, Sam. This is your brother we're talking about. Yeah, he's an idjit with a death wish, and yeah I'm gonna wring his neck when he comes back, but he's also perfectly capable of handling himself. He's proven that more than once." 

Bobby's words calmed Sam, but only momentarily. "Bobby, he's out there right now against who knows what. Chances are, he's alright found the things freaking lair, and like the dumb idiot he is, he's already gone in." 

Bobby was silent for a moment, and Sam was aware of Ellen and Jo's eyes latched on him, watching in a way only women could. The house was silent and still, and he could feel anticipation and adrenaline coursing just under the surface of his skin. He was sensing he had to go after his brother, even if it was as halfcocked as his brother was. Thanks to his brother, now they were being rushed all the more to come up with a solution. 

Bobby's gruff voice knocked him from his reverie. "You're right. We know that your brother is probably found where that thing is hidden – he was certainly motivated enough." 

"Alright, then let's go, we have to find him and—" 

"Hold up boy! Slow down a little bit," Bobby ground out. "Your brother may have gone in unprepared, but that doesn't mean we have to. I think I may have found what we're looking for." 

"Seriously," Ellen asked. Sam took a few long strides into the living room and Ellen followed behind him, her arms crossed. Even Jo sat straighter on the couch. 

Bobby nodded. "Seriously. I just found it in this old book I got from Jim. This flower we're looking at here" he held up the black flower with splashes of purple and red "is a blood iris. They're very rare, only used in the most powerful black magic spells. You don't see these unless we're dealing with a seriously evil, seriously old witch. _But_, they're also a symbol of something else. A greek goddess, goes by the name Achlys. She's a nasty thing – very old, very powerful. She's the goddess of misery, poison, and death, and these flowers are her calling card. Rumor has it she'd been locked away somewhere deep, but I guess she's free." 

Ellen took a step forward. "Ok, that's good. We know who she is, now how do we kill her?" 

Bobby flipped a few pages, searching, and looked back up. "Stab her with a blessed olive branch dipped in her own poison." 

Jo spoke up from the couch for the first time. "What's her own poison, exactly?" They all exchanged looks as the question hung in the air. It was a valid point, and Sam didn't know the answer. 

Apparently Bobby didn't either. "That it doesn't say. I have the blessed olive branch, but I have no clue how to get my hands on her poison." 

Sam frowned. "Where'd you get your hands on a blessed olive branch." 

Bobby leaned back, nonchalance written all over his features. "I went on a supernatural killing kick last year – lots of gods around these parts for some reason. I was sick of hunting the darned things down, so I had an olive tree from Greece shipped over and planted in my back yard. I had a Greek priest bless it for good measure." He said this casually, like a normal person might say they'd bought a terrier or groceries. 

"Bobby, you are amazing, you know that," Jo said, laughing. 

"It could stand be said more." 

Ellen snorted. "All right old man, stop stroking your enlarged ego. I say we get some weapons together and find the place this thing is holed up at, if we want to find Dean." 

They were all quiet for a moment. Sam's mind was spinning, and it was all he could do to concentrate on the problem set before them. 

Sam spoke slowly. "You said these flowers are her calling card, right?" Nods all around. "Ok, so she could be growing these someplace – like a garden." 

Bobby's eyes grew exponentially under his grey eyebrows. "A plant nursery. That's genius Sam." Even as he spoke Sam whipped out his laptop and searched. 

"There's an abandoned plant nursery just outside of town, not even thirty minutes away. It's perfect." 

Those words seemed to be the gun at the start of a race. Suddenly everyone was in a frenzy, bustling around and gathering bags of weapons and ammo. Bobby ran outside and Sam could hear the sounds of an axe against a poor olive tree. 

Sam busied himself with packing, but his mind was somewhere else entirely. This was so _Dean_. Of course he would run right into the belly of the beast without any backup or any heads up. Sam could almost hear his voice in his head. _I have to do this Sam. I have to save her. _Or maybe something a little more self-deprecating. _This is my fault Sam. I got her messed up in all of this. It's my responsibility. _That was just Dean. Anything to protect an innocent or Sam, no matter the cost to himself. Sam found himself cursing Dean's hero complex, his incessant need to protect and save everyone. If he would've just waited a little bit longer, he'd be armed with something that could save his and those victims lives. Instead, he was out there doing who knows what, possibly injured. 

Sam shook his head as they headed out the door. They were going to find his brother, and he was going to be ok. _You have to be ok._

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**TBC- Please don't be shy- I appreciate any and all reviews. All you ghost readers out there, start making yourselves known :)**


	9. You Bleed Just to Know You're Alive

**A/N- Alright! I'm actually pretty excited about this chapter, because I just do. I thought my powers of description were on point, but maybe it's just me. Anyway, thanks to AlaskaForever for reviewing, and to all you guys staying silent out there- speak up! We're finally getting to some of my favorite chapters.**

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Chapter 9

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

Slowly, like embers on a fire coming to life, Dean's consciousness sparked and sputtered, reaching for something to help him hold on to whatever he could of this waking world. Darkness threatened to pull him back under velvety, obsidian waves, but he fought. He didn't have anything to grab onto, but nevertheless he strained against the looming dark. 

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

As fire of his waking brain caught and started dancing inside his awareness, the dark fold he found himself wedged into slowly dissipated. Like small rivulets of water returning to a stream, his senses slowly came back to him, forming a picture to replace his floating blackness that previously surrounded him. At first the sensory detail was overwhelming. After being tucked away inside himself for an indeterminate amount of time, it was almost like his synapses in his brain and his body were on being scorched and overloaded. 

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

Dean took a rattling breath and tried to compartmentalize everything being thrown at him. _Fuck. Think Dean. You're a hunter, you're in an unknown place. What do you do? You figure out what happened, and where you are. _Even now, memories were flooding him, all vying for his attention like overeager first graders. The pictures came to him, playing like a silent movie. He was gasping for air after a bad dream as Sam rushed to his side. He was arguing at the front door with Bobby and Sam in front of him. He was sneaking out to the Impala in the dead of night, and rolling down a neighborhood street flooded by moonlight. He was taking a step toward a mass of blonde hair strewn on the floor. And then… nothing. The silent film broke off. 

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

He had been searching for Sara…and had apparently found her. But obviously someone had gotten the better of him back at that house. Almost as if the feeling was being summoned, Dean could feel a throbbing radiated from the back of his skull. He was almost certain he could feel a trickle of blood slide down and wrap around his ear. Taking stock of the rest of his body, he could determine he was laying horizontal on a dusty floor. Dust stuck to the left side of his face, and behind him a cold cement wall supported his back. Wiggling his hands and feet, he felt dread start to sink in as he felt the duct tape wrapped tightly around his hands and around his ankles. A gag pressed against his tongue, rendering speech useless. All in all, this was looking to be a pretty dire situation already. 

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

_Sigh._

Cold fingers grabbed Dean's heart and clenched tight as he heard someone let out a small, yet exasperated sigh. Clearly one of impatience, but he couldn't tell if it was a boy, girl, or…other. Dean struggled against the fuzzy feeling in the back of his mind and over his limbs as he tried to wedge an eyelid open. After a few unsuccessful attempts, he finally wrangled some control and opened his green eye as wide as he could. 

Dusty, dim light came down on the room from a single hanging light bulb, which hung surprisingly still. Obviously the room was some sort of cellar, based on the chill in the air and the lack of windows on the gray slab cement walls. As Dean's eyes flickered everywhere, they landed on a prone figure slumped against the wall opposite him. Dean had found Sara. 

Dean's heart sped up almost imperceptibly, but almost stopped when her condition became clear. Her lengthy blonde hair splayed around her face and mixed with the brown dirt under her face. Her hands were obviously tied her back, and duct tape was wrapped around her ankles over her jeans and covered her mouth. 

Glancing at her face, Dean was surprised to see her eyes, large and wide and blue even from across the room, on him. She wasn't blinking, but was staring at him with an intensity that could light bonfires. Relief surged through him as he realized he was glad she was awake. Seeing her slumped and unconscious, even in his dream, was unsettling. Now at least he knew that she was awake and alert. More importantly, he thought, she was _alive_. 

Alive and agitated apparently. She made long eye contact with him, and then flicked her eyes to the side of the room near Dean's head and back. Several times she flicked back and forth. _She's trying to show me something, _he realized. Tilting his head, he could make out a dark outline against the flat wall. It was a figure, but he couldn't make out details or specifics. Even as he looked on, the figure shifted and tapped a fingernail against the wall. _There's the tapping sound! And obviously the impatient sigher._

To Dean's surprise, the figure shoved away from the wall and came to stand just in front of him and Sara with sure, confident steps. As the golden light washed over him, his features became clear. He had darker skin and curly black hair, contrasting painfully with a bright blue polo and cargo pants. His dark, searching eyes flickered between Sara and Dean while a feral smile seemed to grace his face. 

"Ah, I see you've both awoken. So nice to see you join the land of the living, Dean. I was beginning to think we might have to start without you. And that would be such a shame." The kids voice indicated he couldn't have been older than eighteen, and Dean felt a snarl press against the gag as the silky smooth threats left this child's mouth. It wasn't right. Dean fidgeted against his bonds but found they were firm and immovable. _Fuck._

"Nothing to say? Ah, that's alright. I prefer it this way, really. Neither of you have anything of import for me anyway. I don't wish to speak to you. That will come later." The kid retreated out of Dean's sight and reappeared a moment later with a wooden bat in his hand. He chuckled as Sara's eyes widened. "Don't worry. I won't start out with that." 

He slowly ambled over to where Dean was struggling with the duct tape. Crouching and still looming over Dean, he tilted his head. Dean was reminded of a cat watching its prey before it struck, eyes focused and evil and dedicated to his prey. He almost expected him to lick his lips. 

Without warning, the man's fist struck Dean on his right cheek. Dean groaned through the gag as the punch almost seemed to go through him, striking straight to the bone. The pain that followed was white hot and blinding. That was no ordinary punch – that was a demon punch. Dean had been in enough bar brawls and battles against demons to know when there was a little too much strength behind a fist, and he was sure now that this scrawny kid couldn't have thrown that much force behind him unless he was packing on the demon juice. Just great. 

The demon stood over him smirking, and then quickly got in two kicks to Dean's ribs and then stomach. He grunted, and curled in on himself as he heard and simultaneously felt a rib detach in a flash of pain. He had no clue what the blow to his abdomen did, but whatever it was couldn't be good. He had no way of defending himself, no way of striking back or gaining the upper hand in any way. 

The demon walked away, and through Dean's pain he could make out the figure walking towards Sara, the bat whistling in a neat circle in his hands. Dean's eyes widened as he watched in horror – the monster struck the side of her head once, and the crack split the air of the basement. As Sara's head hit the floor, all Dean could think was _No, no, no, __**NO**__! Take me instead, don't hurt her, please… _His scream through the gag was muffled and pathetic. The demon smirked at him, and proceeded to bash her arm, leg, and hip once with the bat. Sara no longer peered alertly around the darkened room; her head lolled against the floor and blood dribbled from her awkwardly angled arm. Dean's throat threatened to tighten with the fear that was choking him as pain ignited his nerves and licked like flames down his body. The pain was intense, but he knew the fear wasn't for him. 

"Don't think I've forgotten about you, Deano. This bat wants to make your acquaintance too," the demon called out as he turned from Sara's lax body and headed back towards Dean. _Good. Focus on me, come to me, hurt me. Ignore Sara. _The demon stopped in front of him, bat against the sandy floor. "Where first Dean?" 

He started to rest the bat on Dean's ankle. "What about here? Sensitive spot for sure – lots of little bones to break." The bat settled on his kneecap. "Or here. You'd never walk or run the same again." On his groin. "Now that would be cruel and unusual punishment. I'm a demon, but that's almost too much for me even." A cruel smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, and Dean got a glimpse of his unnaturally white teeth. "I could even give you and your girlfriend matching injuries. How romantic. How about this – you just say the word, and I'll stop." He put a hand behind his ear, mocking Dean as he tried and failed to get a word around the gag. The smile widened, and Dean could feel the sweet rage course through his system. _You fucker. _"No? Alright, I did warn you." 

Quickly the bat was on him, almost invisible as it struck with a passion at his ankle, arm, shoulder, thigh, hip, and stomach. It was all Dean could do to stay conscious as the blows rained down on him, striking quickly but with a force that Dean knew would bruise if not break bones. Volcanoes of pain were erupting all around him as the bat swirled and danced its deadly dance all over Dean's skin and bones. The metallic taste of blood appeared in his mouth, and it was all Dean could do not to choke on the taste of iron. Everything was swirling around him, blurry and out of focus, and dimly Dean was aware of the bat stopping on its quest to break him. 

"Alec, honey, that's enough." A soft, silky voice slipped through the air, seeming to glide through Dean's consciousness and invading his senses. Dean was vaguely aware of Tristan's steps wandered away from her, toward the feminine voice. 

Alec's next words were simpering. "Of course my lady. I was just warming them up for you." 

A heavy thud echoed as something was dropped on the floor. Dean felt the vibrations. "Another one, my lady," Alec asked. 

"I can't seem to reach my fill," whispered another voice. This was another, different woman from the first. While the first woman's voice was alluring and smooth, this girl's voice was scratchy and high, like fingers on a chalkboard. The words were barely a whisper, but somehow they carried. As she spoke, a gaping hole seemed to open up inside Dean, threatening to swallow him whole as terror wrecked him from the inside out. 

"Quite right. We'll keep going until you're satisfied, sister dear," replied the feminine one, her voice now much closer to Dean than last time. 

A cool finger gripped under Dean's chin and rolled his face upward. A view of yellow sclera and vibrant red irises consumed Dean's vision as his captors face swam in his vision. "Why hello, Dean. How nice to finally meet you."

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**TBC- Mmm-hmmm. Dean's finally found Sara, albeit not in the greatest condition, but he's found her. He's also found the woman who confronted Sara. Who's the demon? Who are the other two? What's to happen next? *evil laugh* we shall see... Please read and review (and follow and favorite if you really want to)**


	10. Show Me How to Lie

**A/N- I'm back, with another chapter! Yippee! I'm pretty excited about this one- it's meaty and juicy! Some revelations, and some suspense... Thanks to AlaskaForever, for being such an amazing reviewer. Man, I'm getting really excited about the plans I have for this story.**

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Chapter 10

The woman's face blocked out everything in his peripheral – or at least, that's all Dean could focus on. Upon seeing her face, that reaction was understandable. To say she was interesting to look at would be an understatement. Not from a beauty aspect, although Dean couldn't argue that she was beautiful in a supernatural type of way. Her full purple lips, high cheekbones, and statuesque figure complimented by a skin tight royal purple dress all highlighted her exquisite beauty, and even Dean had to admit, on a normal night, she was worth a second glance. Maybe one of his signature pickup lines. 

As beautiful as she was, however, there was no doubt that this woman wasn't 'woman' at all. Her figure may have been human, but too many other signals were going off in Dean's brain to doubt that she was something else entirely. Her skin was a light grey with a tinge of purple, almost giving off a corpse-like appearance. Obviously her eyes were a huge tip off as well – Dean had never seen someone out of a hospital look so jaundiced. And her pupils were deep pools of blood red, eyeing him hungrily like a cat with a bird in its claws. On top of all that, her form seemed to shift around her, like the shape she was in was a temporary state. Her feet were nonexistent; all that was there was a cloud of purple smoke, and her hair, dark as midnight and longer than even Sara's, was swarming around her head like Medusa's snakes. Not out of control, but almost as if her hair was a separate entity, repeatedly falling gracefully around her face and figure. 

Dean had never seen anything quite like her before, despite his many encounters and run ins with various gods and goddesses. All the ones he'd seen had opted for a more human appearance, probably to blend in with their human prey. This woman, however, seemed more reminiscent of the monsters he'd hunted. He didn't know what to make of her, and that was something that startled him. He was a hunter first and foremost, and not knowing what he was dealing with meant no sure plan of action, no game play. 

Her companion stood off to the side, almost out of Dean's line of vision. To say she looked different than the woman in front of Dean was a vast understatement – it was almost like saying Dean _kind of_ didn't like flying. She looked more girl than woman, due to her childlike height and thin, spindly limbs. Her emaciated form was paper white, and under the dim lighting of the room she seemed to glow with her sickly pallor. Compared to the other woman's flowing (literally), thick hair, her hair hung in greasy clumps in front of her dark eyes, over cheeks with bloody scratches crisscrossing. Her arms hung at her sides and thumped against her body as she swayed as if in a trance, blood dripping down from her long fingernails. _Like the girl from the ring on Thorazine, _Dean thought, trying to process it. 

"How silly of me," a silvery voice said, and Dean felt his eyes sliding from Beautiful Mind girl to succubus woman in front of him. The woman's crimson eyes were boring into his like lasers, and coupled with the malevolent smile playing at the corner of her lips, it gave Dean no doubt that her only intentions were malicious. "I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Eris, and that over there is Achlys, a dear friend. And you've already met Alec…" 

Dean glared at her, trying to communicate his desire to chop her head off through hate alone. _You fucking bitch. I will hunt you down, and kill you in the most creative, painful way possible. _Her smile widened, revealing pearly whites with deadly canines, and he knew she'd received the message loud and clear. 

"You don't remember me, do you, silly little man? Let me jog your memory – you've already seen me before. At the bar…". 

And suddenly, Dean was sucked back into his memories… 

_He looked up from his beer, and following his instincts, cased the place carefully, taking stock of everyone in the joint. It was a relatively crowded bar, but not in a crazy or overwhelming sense. The booths and bar stools were full, but everyone here seemed to know each other and the air had a small town feel to it. Everyone there seemed slightly weathered and Bobbyish, complete with plaid shirts and a fair share of trucker caps. Only a woman and two men in the corner booth stood exception to this – her purple slinky dress reached the floor and caught Dean's roving eye immediately. It wasn't gonna be one of those nights though._

_Dean eased his way into the bar. It was midday, so there were far less occupants than the night before. The only people he recognized was the woman in the purple dress, dark flower in her equally dark hair, who was sitting with a middle aged balding man._

Two different days, two different occasions, but she had been there both times. She had stood out like a sore thumb, a beautiful woman in a red neck bar, but somehow her peacocking had eluded Dean. Regret gripped his heart as he realized both times that she'd been sitting with future victims, obviously enjoying her prey before she did away with them for good. The fact that she'd practically flaunted this to the whole world and Dean hadn't realized it made him feel like the worst hunter in the world. He'd been in one of those men's house, for god's sakes, and hadn't even recognized the balding man in the picture as the man at the bar. The man marked for dead. 

As Dean's eyes widened, Eris chuckled. "So you do remember me. I'd thought I'd made an impression, and I was so hoping I wasn't wrong. It was really too bad it took you so long Dean." With that she plucked a dark flower from her hair and twirled it in her fingers, assessing Dean as he took in the dark flower. It'd been in her hair at the bar, and at the crime scenes. It was in front of him the whole friggin' time, and he had no clue. 

Eris shook her head slowly, eyes still glued to his. She gave a mock, exaggerated frown as she tilted her head. "Tsk, tsk, tsk, Dean. All the clues were there. It would've only taken you a second to fit the pieces of the puzzle together, you know. I really had high hopes for you on this one, I have to be honest. The rumors made you out to be some larger than life, monster slaying machine. I was looking forward to watching you work. Instead, I'm kind of underwhelmed." 

Dean glared at her, cursing the gag for holding him back, for making him seem weak and insignificant while she continued with her monologue. He hadn't realized how much he needed sarcasm until this moment – he needed something to fight back with, and if it couldn't be physically, he could at least engage her in sarcastic, biting banter. That is what he did best, after all. 

Almost as if she read his mind, she sighed. "As much fun as you scowling at me is, I'd rather like to talk to you. Off comes the gag." She reached around and undid the knot behind his head and tossed it aside. Dean hated the dry feeling left in his mouth, but he was glad to have the muzzle removed. He flexed his jaw a few times, warming up stiff muscles, and then reverted his attention back to Eris. 

"I'm so sorry to disappoint. I didn't realize I was being friggin' rated on my performance, _sweetheart_. And to be perfectly honest, I wasn't expecting to be facing off against a high class hooker," he spat as he glowered up at her. If looks could kill… 

"A hooker with finesse. Hm. That's actually fitting. I should put that on my business card." A smirk thrown his direction showed there was no way she was letting him get under her skin. 

"I thought bitches like you used something cliché for a calling card, like a black flower. It's been done, lemme just say." 

She rolled her eyes at that, and stroked a finger along his jaw line. A jolt of electricity passed through him, and suddenly all his pains were reignited under her icy touch. Everywhere burned with a fire that was icy blue, so subzero that it felt like flames. There was no part of his body that wasn't bathed in pure agony, in splitting knives and absolute zero temperatures and electric shocks. Dean curled in on himself, trying to maintain some control over his body, trying to blanket the flames and pad them down best he could. He was running damage control on a body Alec had already broken, and he was quickly running out of blankets to cover the flames. Even his mind was on fire, his brain stem seemingly dipped in acid and threatening to boil over, spilling hissing liquid over the top. He was aware of his breaths coming out in rough pants as his body was wracked with inhuman pain and squeezed of oxygen, and of his body shivering out of control like a live wire. It felt like he was being splintered and torn and shredded into a million pieces, and slowly he felt himself slipping away as he struggled to grasp onto something concrete, something tangible. 

Eris laughed softly somewhere above him. Her finger left his skin, and abruptly all the pain stopped. It was like jumping off a cliff, soaring after Dean had been painfully grounded, and he couldn't tell his body the pain was over. He struggled to get his breathing under control, and he could still feel his heart sprinting a marathon into his chest. His muscles were twitching and spasming underneath his skin like small earthquakes. As he lay there on the ground, he had never felt more pathetic and weak. With one touch, Eris had sent him spiraling into pain he had never felt before and couldn't control, and there was nothing he could do to stop his. He was completely at her mercy. 

"You know, for a human, you have an exceptionally high pain threshold. My touch should have knocked you out in an instant. That really is quite impressive," came Eris' voice from above him somewhere. 

"Maybe…y-y-you're j-just los-sing…your t-t-touch…," Dean muttered through clenched teeth, cursing himself as his voice stuttered with the tremors coursing through him. 

"And yet, I don't you'd last another round, do you? I don't think so," Eris retorted, smugness radiated from her haughty tone. "As far as calling cards go, who said mine was a black flower?" 

Dean's shaking gaze fell on Achlys as her words sunk into him. Eris wasn't the one who'd left omens behind then…Achlys was. All along, with her sightings at the bar and her exuberant, boasting demeanor, Eris had been the easy choice behind all that had been happening in Sioux Falls. Achlys just seemed like a lost and disoriented child, unaware of her surroundings. But as Dean watched blood drip from Achlys fingertips, splattering around her with muted _plops_ onto the sandy floor, his gaze fell on something behind her. 

A shadowed mass rose from the ground, almost reached the ceiling. Dean squinted into the shadows, and suddenly he felt bile rising his throat, coursing up his esophagus as his body threatened to vomit. Against the darkness, limbs stuck out of the pile at odd angles, and he could see heads among random lumps of clothing. Shoes scattered the floor in front of the looming pile of colorless corpses. He realized with his gut twisting inside of him that he was looking at the victims. 

Eris's eyes had followed his as he stared dumbfounded at the pile of lifeless humans in the corner of the basement. "Ah yes. Our collateral. I must say, Achlys has quite an appetite." Her voice was casual, as if Dean had just asked her a question about the weather, or current stock market options. 

Dean felt rage rise to accompany the bile. "You sick, twisted monster. Those are children, and mothers, and _fathers_ there." 

Eris smiled ruefully. "Please. It's not like I _indulged_ in any of them. That was all Achlys' doing. I was just assisting her in the delivery." An ornate silver knife, curved, with golden script down the side appeared in her hand in a puff of grey smoke. She started cleaning her nails with it. 

Dean snorted. "What are you, the pizza delivery girl from Hell? Besides, why should I believe you? Why would you be so above killing humans?" 

Eris shot a look of contempt at Dean before she returned to her nails. "Please. I'm hardly a delivery girl. I'm just…assisting an old friend. Achlys and I go way, _way_ back, and we were both released thanks to your brothers doing." A wide smile spread across her face. "It is the Apocalypse after all. I just told her I'd help her get back to full strength. Sucking the blood and soul out of humans is hardly my cup of tea. My plans are a little more…complex, if you will." 

He stared at her for a moment, analyzing her. Monsters were always bad news, especially the bloodthirsty kind, but the ones with plans and strategies were a whole other thorn in Dean's side. Monsters like those were intelligent as well as dangerous, and they always proved slippery and hard to kill. If she was as old as it sounded like she was, then Dean and Sam had their work cut out for them. 

Dean let out a gruff laugh without any real humor behind it. "Listen, _Eris_, I don't understand your specific kind of crazy but I do admire your total commitment to it. But me and Sam, we're going to stop you and your plans, no matter how complex they are." 

Eris was in front of him in a puff of smoke, and Dean did his best not to appear surprised. "Is that so? Well, if the great Dean Winchester commands it, then so it must be, right?" She cocked her head. "_Please_. It took no effort at all to lure you here. Throw in a damsel in distress, and you ran to me in a matter of hours. _Alone_, at that." 

Another breath of purple smoke, and Eris was crouching in front of Sara, squeezing her still gagged face. "All it took was a pretty face, and you were under my thumb." 

Dean wrestled with his bonds as pain shot across Sara's face, scrunching her face and making her body contort as Dean's had. "Stop! Your beef is with me, not her." He couldn't help the panic that leaked into his voice as Sara started to twitch spasmodically. 

Slowly, deliberately, Eris's grey hands withdrew from Sara's face. As she did, Sara slumped back down to the ground, breathing heavily and twitching like a schizophrenic. Dean wished he could see her eyes as she curled in on herself, just so he could communicate with her, tell her it was alright, that they were going to make it out of there. 

Eris had turned to watch him once more. "Of course, you have the most interesting taste in girls, you know that Dean? Of all the girls you laid your eyes on… Your girly here? She's special in ways you can't even imagine. It's pretty ironic, really. You'd laugh if you knew." 

Dean knew she was trying to goad him, trying to tease him into wanting to know more. But he wasn't willing to fall for any tricks or traps Eris had up her sleeve. 

A wicked smile, knowing and condescending, bloomed on Eris' face. "God, you have no idea what you've stumbled on, have you? Stupid, stupid, stupid. You have no idea what she is or what she'd capable of. Are all humans this naïve?" She continued on without waiting for an answer. "I'll tell you what. Let's play a game. If you win, I'll set you and your girl free." 

Dean's green eyes narrowed. Games meant traps. "And if I lose?" 

Her dark eyebrows quirked up. "Let's just operate under the assumption that you get the same punishment whether you lose or elect not to play." 

"Don't sound like I have a lot of choice in the matter then." 

Her wide grin was confirmation. "That's the spirit. My game has rules – I'll ask you questions, simple questions really. If you answer truthfully, your freedom is yours." 

"Why should I trust you?" 

Eris sighed irritably. "Because. I give you my word, as a goddess." With those words, she scratched a white, glowing x on her left shoulder with her pinky. It shone against her grey skin. 

Dean's brows furrowed, her forehead a wrinkle of concentration. "Why should I believe your word as a goddess? Should that mean something to me?" After all, since when did gods promise anything other than death and destruction? Since when did they offer deals? 

Her lips thinned for a moment. "Dean, when a goddess gives her word, she'd bound for all eternity." The x on her skin was slowly fading, leaving no trace or scar to ever prove it'd been there. 

He contemplated. It didn't sound he had a lot of choice in the matter, but he still didn't like his odds. Making deals with demons and goddesses was no different than making a deal with the devil – you always ended up with your ass handed to you. He'd learned that from experience, and he really didn't want to rehash that. Besides, a game where he was just asked questions and…told the truth? Somehow he knew there was more behind the surface – it couldn't just be that simple. There had to be a loophole the goddess would exploit. On the other hand, if he refused to play along, she could very well kill them right then and there, sacrificed to Achlys, body and soul. He couldn't chance that, not with Sara on the line too. 

Maybe, if he played along, that would buy them enough time for Sam and Bobby to find where they were and rescue them. He knew it was a long shot – they'd been there for who knew how long already, and there was no sign of a rescue team. Still, he couldn't give up hope. He just had to believe Sam was out there somewhere searching for them, and give him the time he needed. Knowing Sam and Bobby, they'd find a way to find them. _Come on Sam. Hurry your ass up._

He nodded stiffly. "Alright. You're on." 

She smiled so obscenely it made him shiver. "I knew you'd see it my way." She ghosted closer to Dean, her bottom half completely smoke. Eyes focused raptly upon him, she started. "Alright, we'll start small. Are you or are you not Michael's chosen vessel?" 

He nodded stiffly. "I am." 

"Of course you are. That was just a test question." In the blink of an eye she was behind him, a strand of her hair tickling up his neck. She spoke next to his ear, softly, and the hair on the back of his neck rose. "Next- we all know about the prize fight that's inevitably going down between Michael and Satan, aka you and Sam. Inevitably, one of you will lose. Could be you or Sam. My question is, are you willing to sacrifice yourself to save the world?" 

Dean spoke quickly. "Yes, of course." 

Suddenly Eris had reappeared next to Sara, knife twirling in her hand. "Are you though, Dean? Are you willing to _die_ for this planet?" 

He nodded his head, throat dry. "Yes." Her tone was started to raise alarm bells in his mind, and he watched the silver knife spinning like a top in her hand, too near Sara for any comfort. 

"You're _lying_. You may be Michael's chosen vessel, but in order to potentially sacrifice yourself, you must first say yes to Michael. And you have no intention of doing that." The dagger was now curled in her fingertips. "You know what the consequence of lying is, Dean?" 

Without giving Dean the opportunity to answer, she took the knife in her hand and slid it along Sara's thigh, from her hip to her knee. Dean let out a strangled yell as Sara's jeans quickly turned crimson, soaking through the fabric. Sara didn't even move, still motionless from the shock she'd received at Eris' hand. Dean struggled against the floor to be near her. "Sara! Sara, wake up, wake up, you'll be ok…" 

Eris was suddenly in front of him, a sneer on her lip. "Lying is against the rules, Dean." Before Dean could react, her knife was sliding its way down his leg in a smooth, straight line. Pain was upon him before he even knew what was happening, coursing through his leg and throughout his body. Dean found himself slumped to the ground, watching in agony as hot, thick blood coursing in rivulets down his thigh. The cut flesh was on fire, and Dean tried to tell his throbbing limb to shut up. _It's ok, I've had worse, _he told his body. But the blood starting to pool around him was telling a different story, as well as his limb. If he wasn't looking at his leg right now, he would've been sure it was on fire. 

Eris consumed Dean's vision once more as she crouched close in front of them. She was so close Dean could smell her fruity scent– apples, his brain connected foggily. "You have one last chance Dean. One last question." Her red eyes peered deep into his soul, and he tried to focus but his concentration was slipping away just as surely as the blood from his leg. "This one's better than the last. Maybe you are willing to sacrifice yourself to save the world – maybe not. But are you willing to sacrifice Sam?" 

Sam. Sam, his little brother. Sam, the nerd and the researcher. Sam, the college boy. Sam, Lucifer's vessel. Sam, the virtuous and the caring. Sam, whom he'd vowed always to protect. Would he be willing to sacrifice the one person that he cared most for in this world, the one person left of his family, the one person who could even come close to understanding him? Would he put the world over his brother's life? The answer was simple, and he'd known it all along. No. No, he would not sacrifice his brother. He would rather die himself than know his little brother was dead and gone from his life forever. 

He had always known his answer to this question, and Eris asking the question in no way changed his mind or his resolve. His silence was thick and telling, and Dean could see that Eris knew his response from his pursed lips. Whether he stayed silent, answered, or lied, she knew the truth. She leaned in close, her silky hair brushing against his face as she whispered in his ear, "When Lucifer's done with it, the world will be as black as your soul." She then tilted his head back and opened his mouth. As he struggled in vain against her powerful grip, she waved her hand and a vial appeared. It was filled to the brim with a purple liquid, and silver bubbles wobbled to the surface. In one quick motion Eris shoved the liquid down his gullet, and shoved his mouth shut before he could spew it back out. She kept his jaw shut until he was forced to swallow, the burning liquid making its way to his stomach. 

He slumped to the ground as she let go, his head lolling as the liquid made its home inside him. He was aware of his entire body growing numb, his vision going blurry as he watched Eris tip Sara's head back and pour a black liquid in her mouth. A steady lethargic wave was passing through him, each crest washing over the next, and as all of his limbs fell asleep and his eyes shut of their own accord, he heard a thumping sound as blackness took over his vision and his mind receded to nothingness.

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**TBC- A longer chapter than my others, but I like it nonetheless :) So, what'll happen next? Please read and review!**


	11. Even Heroes Have the Right to Bleed

**A/N- Three days later and already a newer, longer chapter! I know, I'm excited too! Usually I'm not super excited about writing from Sam's perspective, but this actually was an interesting tell from his perspective. Sam's love for his brother is very different, but still intense. And thank you to AlaskaForever, Coleyb20, and mel0211 for their reviews. In answer to AlaskaForever, yes, Eris was a character I instantly fell in love with while watching Sinbad, and she's a character I definitely wanted to work with. It works in Supernatural because she's an actual mythical goddess. Also, I feel her role and relationship with Sinbad could be very similar to the one she has with Dean. Thanks for the pregunta!**

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Chapter 11

Sam was a researcher through and through. Ever since he was young and he'd been shoved into the research position in their skewed family dynamic, he'd learned to love the wealth of information at his fingertips whenever he pulled out dusty tomes about mysterious creatures in the library. He knew it was John's way of keeping him safe and out of harms way on a hunt, but he'd excelled at it in a way that rivaled even John's superb deductive mind. It was his way of getting involved. Still, it seemed to come as a shock to Dean and John both when his love of learning carried over to school and academics. The world of higher education seemed like a waste of time to his heroic family, but Sam found himself just as enchanted by its normalcy. 

Just as much as Sam was the brains of the operation, Dean was just as surely the brawns. That wasn't to say that Dean didn't have a brilliant hunters mind – it was true that he could see patterns where nothing seemed to be there, and his instincts were a trusty compass both he and Sam had learned to trust. But Dean was also wired for action, the need for movement and fighting evil creatures seeming to be ingrained in his very DNA. Dean had taken to hunting like a duck to water, and John had further molded him into a hunter capable of tackling most anything. Dean was a force to be reckoned with. 

Unfortunately, Dean's hunters' instinct sometimes overrode common sense and coupled with a masochistic, compulsive need to save others, frequently at the expense of his own safety and life. Sam both loved him and hated him for it. On one hand, he often saved lives and gave people the chance to live past their expiration date. On the flip side, however, Sam was sure one day he'd suffer from a heart attack from worrying about his brother's crazy antics and half-assed plans. Dean gave no thought to himself, and Sam was left concerned enough for the both of them, seeing as Dean couldn't seem to bother himself. 

As the engine of the Impala rumbled to a halt, Sam could hear one of Bobby's clunkers doing the same beside him. Just the thought of it made Sam scowl angrily as he slammed the shining car door. Dean had opted for a quieter ride out of the junkyard, obviously because he didn't want to be caught sneaking out when they had already decided to get a little more info. It was just so _Dean_. Once again, he had sent Sam into a tailspin of worry for his older brother, while he heroically pursued a victim without knowledge on how to actually deal with the monster. Dean was a consequences be damned kinda guy, and yet Sam always found himself shoulders with the consequences. Like the state his brother was in after the fact. Worrying was putting it lightly. 

_No, you can't think like that Sam. Dean will be fine. You'll find him after he's slain whatever it is, and he'll complain about how long it took you, like he expected you all along. He's fine, _Sam thought furiously, solidifying his thoughts with all the mental fortitude he could. His mind was like steel pillars – sturdy and resolute. 

Sam circled back to the Impala's trunk, and winced as the squeak from the door echoed into the night. It seemed too quiet for them to be there. The remnants of ruler straight rows of trees and plants remained, dark shadows set against a midnight blue sky. The derelict plants were long forgotten; many of their meticulous ranks were broken and weeds smothered the rest. Sam felt like they were peering at the odd group, shouldering against one another to get a peek at the people who obviously shouldn't be there. He just couldn't shake the feeling something was watching him. _Sheesh, get a grip. You have a job to do. There's no maneating plant named Audrey out to get you._

Bobby had gathered around the Impala's trunk with Ellen and Jo in tow. Rustling around the disorganized chaos that was the Impala, everyone was handed a stake and guns were divvied up. Bobby spoke quietly, as if he too was scared of what would happen if his voice carried over into the oppressive night around them. "Alright. Here's how we're gonna do this. Me and Sam are gonna take one side. Ellen, you and Jo are gonna take the other. We'll search the place, and call for backup if you find anything." Everyone's heads nodded agreement. Sam couldn't help but see lines set off by Bobby's frown, the shaking quality of Ellen's hands, and Jo's hardened eyes. It was a small consolation, but at least he wasn't doing this alone. This time he had people to cover him while he searched for his brother. 

_Dean will be standing over the body, grinning. Dean will be fine_. 

The group set off toward the dilapidated glass greenhouse, the only building in sight. The moonlight shone against the dirty glass panels, revealing broken panes and vines spilling out. Once inside, the silence was almost stifling. The cricket sounds were gone, and now all that could be heard was the crunch of their feet padding down the aisles of wilted, overgrown plants. Flashlight beams bounced across the room, the searching, roving circles of golden light only illuminating the desolate quality of the place. 

As they reached the end of the rectangular structure, Sam could feel seeds of hopelessness being planted and sprouting, starting to grow in around his bones and his muscles, circling around his veins and his heart in a chokehold. If they couldn't find his brother here, he didn't know what they'd do. They had no other leads to go on, and Sam could just feel the clock ticking as time quickly ran out. They had to find Dean. They had to. 

A whining creak yanked him out of his thoughts, and Sam instantly stilled, his mind frantically searching for the cause of the loud din. "Sam! Bobby!" Jo's strained whisper carried across the previously silent room. "We found something!" 

Sam hurried toward the manager's office, gliding into the room in a way he almost didn't know was possible for his 6'4" frame. Bobby was right behind him. Upon entering the small room they saw Ellen and Jo in a corner, both of their hands tilted downwards as they observed something on the floor. Sam peered around them and saw what the flashlight was illuminating – a wooden trap door, without the presence of dust like the rest of the abandoned building. This had been recently used, which was definitely promising. 

Crouching, Jo expertly picked the lock and pried it from the door. Slowly, the hatch was opened upwards, and everyone winced as they expected the inevitable groan of old metal, which surprisingly never came. Instead they were faced with a ladder that receded down to the bottom of an old basement cellar. A distant, hidden light shone, revealing a golden brown dirt floor and nothing else. All was silent from below. 

Jo made a move to start down the ladder, but Sam gripped her shoulder tight. She turned to look at him, her eyes wide as he shook his head. "I'll go first." Something in his voice made her eyes drop, looking anywhere but at him. 

As Sam turned and started his descent into the belly of the beast, he tried to ignore his wildly thumping heart and his conflicted, warring mind. 

**We came too late – he probably went in stupid against something he had no hope of winning against.**

_Shut up. He's fine. If anyone can take out a monster, it's Dean._

**He's probably injured. Who knows, could be lethal.**

Shut. Up. _Dean is perfectly capable of handling himself. He's just taking care of Sara._

**Please. Sense when can Dean handle himself? You're his conscience – without you he has no boundaries, no limits to which he'll go. He's probably dead.**

_He's not dead. Dean is not dead. He wouldn't leave me like that. He wouldn't._

**At least he got himself killed for a good purpose. Well, it wasn't for you this time, but at least he died a hero. Who's going to take care of you now Sammy?**

_SHUT UP!_

**Free to go back to college without your brother dragging back to the life…**

With a grit of his teeth and a shake of his head, Sam tossed the evil little voice in his head into a locked box and shut the lid tight. Of course he didn't think that. Of course he wanted his brother safe and by his side to fight the rest of their days. But his brother was fine – Dean was always fine. 

Sam reached the bottom of the ladder with a light _thump. _He spun around and was instantly overwhelmed. 

First, there was the smell. It reeked of death and decomposition and blood and something sweet that lingered at the edges but couldn't be recognized under the blanket of putrid that filled Sam's nostrils. It was pure decay. To his left he found the source of the stench. The pile of bodies was staggering and grotesque, limbs bent at odd angles and tufts of hair sticking out. Faces at random junctures showed sleeping grey faces with blue lips. It seemed modge – podge. Sam could see women, men, old, young. Not just that, but Sam could also distinguish the victims they had been searching for. Madge Dillon, 54, two cats and a worried neice. Alexander Green, 32, single interior design artist. Bert Warren, 40, accountant. Every face he'd seen on a missing poster or when he'd been researching. Every face was familiar. And dead. He felt vomit rise in the back of his throat as he viewed the bodies of people who were loved thrown haphazardly into a pile, forgotten and disrespected. 

His gaze continued and came to a stop as he saw the scene directly in front him. The basement went deeper, and not but 20 feet away from his stood a girl planted solidly on the dirt floor. She was swaying slightly, and her gaze slid back and forth in front of her. Dingy black strands swayed in front of a pale face covered in blood. Like an autistic murder. He took one step forward and suddenly her eyes whipped upward to meet his, eyes sharp and intelligent in a way that conflicted with her demeanor. 

"Stop." Her voice was scratchy and high, nothing more than a whisper, but the single word carried a sharp command that Sam had no doubt she had the ability to enforce. He stopped in his tracks, senses alert and keen. This was a hunt, and he finally had a face behind all the disappearances. A target for his grief and worry. And anger. 

"I've been waiting for you Sam Winchester." With every word she spoke, a pit gaped wider and wider in Sam's stomach, threatening to swallow him whole. Sam didn't know where the feelings of hopelessness and misery were coming from all of a sudden, but he had no doubt that he wasn't responsible for the sudden onslaught of despair. 

"Achlys. How did you know I'd come? It's not like you left a huge clue trail to follow." Sam cursed his voice, hating the way it shook at the ends, a mixture of heady anger and the sudden sorrow affecting his normally calm, commanding voice. 

"Your brother." Two short words, and his eyes were small saucers. She moved to the side behind him, and let him see what lay a ways behind her. Or who. Dean was a large heap on the floor, his clothes rumpled and mussed, surrounded by the remnants of some purple smoke that was quickly ebbing away. Sam felt his own dread at the sight of blood pooling on the ground around his brother, the dark red mixture contrasting with the floor in a way that made Sam want to gag. That was his brother there, beaten and broken. 

Before he could stop himself, Sam growled. The sound was directed at the girl standing between him and his brother, and it was feral and enraged. The ferocity of it didn't seem to phase her; she didn't even blink. Sam wasn't disappointed though – he didn't care if she was scared. He just wanted her dead, as beaten as his brother. "Why?!" 

Her answer came slowly, as if the events in front of her were as boring as a detergent commercial. "Why was your brother treated this way? Why was he injured? Possibly because he was in the way. I know not – your brother is none of my concern. I didn't hurt him. He's not of import to me." 

"Really?!," Sam snarled. "He's not of _import_ to you? I don't fucking believe you." 

"Not in the slightest. There are others that find him intriguing, or useful…I honestly can't find the appeal. Not unless he's dead." 

Her monotonous tone grated Sam's nerves. All he wanted to do was bash her head in with the stake. Repeatedly. "Then why didn't you just kill him? Why torture him and leave him for dead?" 

"Not of my doing. I was told you were more intelligent Sam Winchester. I can say whoever made that assessment was thoroughly mistaken." 

With that Sam charged at her, stake ready in his hand. She flew at him too, closing the distance between them in seconds. They wrestled, and Sam was surprised at the strength of this one little girl. It didn't matter that he had a height and weight advantage; she had the strength of a demon, and as Sam struggled to pierce her with the stake she successfully kept him at bay. She scratched his arms with her long nails as they fought, and Sam could feel hot blood coursing down his arms as she broke skin. 

Finally she seemed to grow tired of the struggle, and pushed Sam in the chest. The thrust sent Sam flying, and his back connected with the wall a second later. He dropped to the floor, and Sam gasped as the contact rid all the air out of his lungs. His back and spine were on fire, and he slumped against the wall. Achlys had started toward him, her gait smooth and slow as she seemed to taste his misery; a small, hungry smile seemed to play on her face as she approached. 

_Thump. _"Hey, ugly!" Bobby's gruff voice reverberated off the concrete walls, and Sam felt a flush of relief flood through him. Now, if only oxygen would do just that. His eyes were wheeling, looking, searching… 

They skidded to a halt on a squat barrel next to him. He could just make out a black liquid within the barrel, sloshing as the reverberations from Sam's fall made the fluid inside spatter against the containers walls. Sam's eyes widened as he saw the flowers resting on the water's surface, swaying gently. A conversation drifted to the forefront of his mind, his thoughts drifting to the words that had been spoken… 

_Ellen took a step forward. "Ok, that's good. We know who she is, now how do we kill her?"_

_Bobby flipped a few pages, searching, and looked back up. "Stab her with a blessed olive branch dipped in her own poison."_

_Jo spoke up from the couch for the first time. "What's her own poison, exactly?" They all exchanged looks as the question hung in the air. It was a valid point, and Sam didn't know the answer._

_Apparently Bobby didn't either. "That it doesn't say. I have the blessed olive branch, but I have no clue how to get my hands on her poison."_

His mind skipped back to words Bobby had spoken only moments before that conversation… 

_But, they're also a symbol of something else. A greek goddess, goes by the name Achlys. She's a nasty thing – very old, very powerful. She's the goddess of misery, poison, and death, and these flowers are her calling card._

They'd been staring it in the face the entire time, and hadn't connected the dots. _Dean probably would, _Sam thought bitterly. It was true – connections were Dean's thing, and if he hadn't traipsed off to play hero (and now damsel), he would've figured it out and they could've came in prepared together. 

In a swift movement, Sam took his first shuddering breath and plunged the stake into the barrel into the sickly sweet smelling substance. His gaze slid back to Bobby, who was doing his best to appear fearsome and not panicked as Achlys advanced toward him, blood dripping from her fingernails as she shuffled toward him. Trying to catch Bobby's eye, he tried to garner his attention by waving his arms, but to no avail. 

Finally he shouted, "Hey", and threw the stake across the room in the same second. Achlys whipped around, her hair slapping her face as she spun to face Sam, and Bobby's eyes slid from Achlys to Sam to the stake soaring through the air and toward him. He caught it one hand, and it only took a second for him to spot the dark, sticky liquid on the end and make the connection. In one deft thrust, he sunk the stake into Achlys back. 

Her mouth opened in a silent scream, and she shook on the spot for a mere moment before sinking to her knees. Blood and black matter started dripping from her every orifice until her hair and every surface of her skin was coated in the black-red substance. She sunk to the ground and it only took a second for her form to waiver like a mirage. And then she was no more than a puddle on the ground. 

Sam stared at what had once been a girl and took another shuddering breath. His lungs still felt stupid and slow from the blow from the wall – he kept having to remind them how to do their job. He was aware of Bobby rushing to his side and he stupidly looked up at him. Suddenly his limbs were so heavy, and his mind felt hazy, like a smoke screen was between him and reality. All he'd like right now was for a nice nap… 

_Slap! _Sharp pain registered as an open hand made contact with his face. Sam's eyes were jolted open and it felt like his body had received an electric shock. Bobby's face was hovering over him, eyes intent on his. "Now's not the time for sleep, Sam. Your brother—" 

And that was all Sam needed to jump back to his feet. His brother was hurt. His brother needed him. 

He rushed quickly to his brother, his eyes passing briefly over Sara's still form and Ellen and Jo's shapes as they tended to her. So Dean had ended up finding her after all. From the look of it, she'd suffered the same beatings as Dean. A fleeting feeling of sorrow flitted across Sam's heart, but he brushed it away. He felt sorry for the poor girl for getting involved in this, as he felt sorry for all their perfectly normal victims for getting involved in the supernatural shitstorm that was their world, but Sam didn't have time to worry about Sara. His mind could only contain enough worry for Dean at the moment. 

Crouching next to Bobby, he took in Dean. His face was a pale sheet compared to his normal peach coloring, and his freckles shone out against his pale pallor. His long lashes swept across his pale skin, and his blonde hair was mixed with blood at the base of his skull. There was a darkening bruise on his cheek that was turning into a promising purple and blue. Looking down at his body, Sam could see his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths, but it was a small consolation when he took the wounds Dean had suffered from. His long form was a mixture of blood and bruises, the worst of which appeared to be Dean's leg. On his side he sported a deep gash that was at least a foot long and still leaking blood in considerable amounts. The gash itself was straight and meticulous – obviously intentional and savage torture. Sam saw red as anger bubbled up in his stomach. _That bitch did this to my bother. She tortured him for no reason other than to see him in pain._

"No, no…Dean, Dean, you there? It's Sam. You have to be ok, Dean. You have to promise me you'll be ok. Please…" Sam's voice was shaking harder than ever, tears threatening to spill. He didn't care who heard his pleading as long as Dean was ok. He was no longer a 6'4" hunter capable of anything; he was a little boy who needed his older brother. 

Trembling, Sam reached out and felt at the side of Dean's cool neck. A pulse throbbed under his fingertips, which made Sam want to dance, but the urge was quickly squashed when he felt the fast, weak flutter. Dean had lost a lot of blood, and it was making itself apparent. 

A roaring sound rushed around Sam's ears. All his promises, his hopes, his wishes for Dean, all his optimism about the situation he was to find his brother in fell crashing down around him, tinkling as the fragility of his glass desires smashed into a million pieces and he was left sitting in the middle. Dean was the one equipped to handle this situation, not him. Dean was the protector and the caretaker and everything else Sam needed, and the only person Sam needed as he stared down at his brother prone form was Dean. 

Sam felt Bobby's steady hand grip his arm tightly, as if tethering a leash to Sam. It was a good idea. If not for Bobby's iron grip, Sam might just float away unburdened to a place where he didn't feel pain like this. To a place where it didn't feel like his heart was going to explode in his chest. To a place where big brothers never left their little brothers. Sam wasn't sure places like that existed, but if not for Bobby the weight, he'd find them himself. 

Sam turned and met Bobby's solid, ice blue stare. "It'll be alright Sam. Dean will be ok. But we have to stop the bleeding and get them out of here soon as we can." He gestured to a bag of bandages that Jo was helping herself to, and they both silently got to work. An air of impatience had settled in now, and Sam knew it wasn't just him and Bobby that felt it – he could hear Jo and Ellen making quick work on Sara behind them. Time was of the essence because the longer Dean and Sara went without blood transfusions to replace the blood they lost, the more danger they were in. Sam and Bobby gently yet quickly wrapped ribs and staunched bleeding until Dean was covered in haphazard bandages. 

Bobby stood up. "Ellen, Jo, how's Sara?" 

Ellen's terse voice sounded from behind Sam. "She's lost a lot of blood, but she'll be alright." A turn of Sam's head revealed Sara being cradled by Ellen, her arms tucked under Sara's shoulders and knees. Sara's head lolled and her long hair was thrown across her body. "Good thing she's so tiny." 

Sam turned back to Dean and his still face. _I wish for anything I didn't have to carry you out of here man. You and me both would rather you walk out of your own power. _He made to pick Dean up in a fireman's carry, but stopped as Bobby gripped his arm. Another turn revealed Bobby's face as drawn and slightly apologetic. "Sam…I don't think that's the best idea." 

Sam scrunched up his face. "Why?" 

Bobby heaved a sigh. "With his broken ribs, I think it'd just hurt him more. No, best to carry him how Ellen got Sara." 

Sam looked back to Dean and thought it over. Bobby had a point – any further pressure on Dean's stomach or ribs would only hurt him, and the fireman's carry wasn't really designed for it. The marital, over the threshold carry would be safer, even if it was a shitton more embarrassing. 

"Sorry dude," Sam muttered as he slid his arms under Dean's armpits and knees. He grunted as his legs almost buckled against Dean's weight as he stood. Dean wasn't fat by any means – despite his disgusting diet, Dean's metabolism and non-stop movement seemed to prevent fat from accumulating on his body. Carrying his older brother now, Sam could tell Dean was actually pure muscle. Usually he was glad for it, but right now his brother was the equivalent of a small elephant. 

Following Bobby, he headed out the back entrance, which was really just a cellar door that led straight outside. As he took the steps out into the crisp night air, he couldn't help but jostle Dean's body slightly. He regretted it instantly – a slight moan slipped from between Dean's teeth, and his face winced in pain. He stayed unconscious though, for which Sam didn't know if he was grateful or disappointed. 

He made the rest of the way to the Impala lightly, trying to make the trip as smoothly as possible. He reached the car, and with Bobby's help, succeeded in laying Dean across the back seat, which was no easy task. His brother's pants were now intermixed with soft moans, and it made Sam realize how much he kept at bay normally. He was used to the brother that never complained, the brother that refused to go to the hospital no matter the ailment. Seeing his brother like this, unguarded and shields down… he may have wished for it before, but it wasn't right. It wasn't what Dean would have wanted. 

He clambered into the front seat next to Bobby. A sidelong glance was exchanged. "Hospital or your house?" Sam asked between clenched teeth as he started up the car and pulled out onto the road. 

Bobby sighed. He seemed to be doing a lot of that, but then again, Dean brought that out in a person. "My house will do. I've got enough O negative stored up for the both of them. We should be ok." He was quiet for a moment, and then said, "He'll be ok Sam." 

Sam couldn't answer – all he could do is glance back at his brother and continue driving.

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**TBC- Thank you for reading, and don't forget to review/favorite/follow! **


	12. I'm Waking Up, I Feel It In My Bones

**A/N- Have you ever tried to write a chapter, and the words just aren't coming to you? That's kind of how this chapter was for me. Granted, it was filler, so I kind of expected that, but I also didn't expect for this chapter to be such a struggle. So, it's definitely not one of my favorites. But oh well, all stories have necessary evil. Just because I didn't enjoy writing it doesn't mean you don't have to enjoy reading it :)**

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Chapter 12

The car ride to Bobby's was a blur to Sam. Everything seemed oddly out of focus, like he was using a microscope with the wrong lens. He was aware of the trees and the road flying by, almost as if at supersonic speed, and he was aware of his hands gripping the wheel so tight that his knuckles were white. His body was tensed like a wire, ready to snap at any moment, at any catalyst. 

The only thing that was keeping him grounded and sane was the sound of his brothers breathing. The shallow breath coming from the back of the car tethered him like a steel cable to the ground, better than gravity ever would. That was the sound he'd grown up with – that was the sound he'd heard since he could remember, since he would crawl into his brothers bed when he was scared and listen to his brothers breaths to lull him to sleep. It was a sound that told him he was safe, that nothing would harm him because his brother would protect him. The sound he was hearing now was a perverse version of that, stilted with pain, but it still meant the same thing. 

Bobby stayed silent, and for that Sam was glad. His surrogate father seemed aware of the fact that Sam didn't want to talk, didn't want to be reassured or lied to. The only one to bring Sam down when he was like this was currently unconscious in the back seat. 

The yard loomed ahead, and Sam rolled in front of the house, wincing when they ran over a pothole and his brother let out a low moan in response. Ellen's car was in front of theirs, and no one was in sight – apparently they were already inside with Sara. 

Making their way inside with Dean was no easy task. Getting him out of the car was one thing, but carrying him inside hurt Sam both physically and mentally. There was nothing they could do to share his weight; Bobby didn't exactly have any stretchers lying around, so Sam had to carry his brother like he did before. If it was possible, it felt like his brother had gained weight since Sam had gotten him out of the basement. Or maybe Sam was just exhausted. Mentally, it wrecked him to see his brother so white, so helpless. So dependent on Sam in a way he only saw when his brother was this hurt. 

Heading inside, he could see that Ellen and Jo had set Sara up on the couch, and brought out a cot for Dean. Medical supplies were strewn on the floor in various kits, and Sam started gathering various things he needed after he gently laid Dean on the cot. 

As he did, Bobby entered the living room. He looked back and forth between the two patients. "Well. Aren't these two quite the matched set? How is Sara doing?" 

Ellen turned to face him, and Sam got a glimpse of Sara behind her. The blonde was as still and pale as Dean, her sallow skin contrasted heavily against the blood red couch beneath her. Sam could see bandages covering her thin torso. An IV and blood bag hung near her head. "She's unconscious but stable. She's got a possible concussion, and bruising on her arms and legs. We're stitching up the leg now. I think she'll be fine, she's just gotta get some blood in her." 

Bobby nodded, and turned his attention to Sam, dropping down next to him on the floor. His eyes, almost hidden behind bushy brows, were full of concern. "And Dean?" His voice had more gravel in it than usual. 

Sam turned back to his older brother. "I… I haven't looked yet." Bobby's hand rested on his shoulder, firm and reassuring, but Sam shook it off. "I'm okay Bobby." He could feel Bobby's eyes on him, searching and inquisitive, just waiting for Sam to break, but he didn't want his pity. All he wanted was for his brother to be ok. 

In silence they got to working on Dean. Just lifting his brothers shirt made Sam want to hurl or punch something. His brothers chest was a motley of bruises, all making themselves apparent in a medley of yellows, purples, and blues. He tenderly felt along his brothers ribs, and winced when his brother gave a sharp intake of breath. He was right – his brother had at least two broken ribs, possibly three. He got to work wrapping the ribs tightly to keep them in place. 

He almost felt wrong for thinking this, but this wasn't how their relationship was supposed to go. Dean was the older brother, and Sam knew that's how he identified himself. Dean was his protector, his role model, and everything else Sam needed him to be. Dean had stitched Sam up more times than he could count, and now, it felt wrong for him to be the one stitching Dean up. 

_Seven year old Sam had climbed about two branches up the thick oak tree. Some of the branches were as thick as his torso, but he just wrapped his skinny legs around them like a monkey. Sunlight filtered through the thick foliage, dappling the limbs around Sam with speckled golden light._

Higher, _he thought excitedly. _I can climb higher_. "Hey Dean! Look at me!" He sat, back against the trunk, legs straddling the branch as he waved excitedly at his older brother. Dean was throwing knives against a cedar tree not far from where Sam was and he looked up, grin wide on his face._

"_You're such a monkey Sammy!" His voice carried up the tree and Sam snickered._

"_I'm not a monkey! I'm Superman!," He yelled back. Carefully, he planted both his feet on the branch and stood, feeling the breeze against his face. This was so much better than being cooped up in a motel room waiting for their dad, who'd been gone for the better part of two weeks. They'd been given strict instructions not to leave unless it was for school or food, but after begging and using his best puppy dogs eyes, Dean had finally relented and took them to the nearest park. Sam had held his hand and Dean had made funny faces at him as they walked across the emerald green grass._

"_Oh yeah? If you're Superman, I'm Batman!," Dean shouted. As Sam watched, his brother threw another throwing knife at the tree, crowing as the knife hit dead center on the target. Sam watched his brother with admiration. Sam may not be able to fly like Superman, but Dean was the closest person to Batman Sam had ever known, other than his father. Dean was the good Batman though, the type that always listened to what Sam had to say and always let Sam sleep with him if he was having a nightmare. When Sam grew up, he wanted to be just like Dean._

_Sam shifted his weight from both feet to one, and suddenly he was sliding down the side of the sturdy tree. "Dean!" Branches whipped past him and he scrambled to something, anything, to catch hold of and break his fall. He only fell for seconds before making a solid and unforgiving return to earth. In an instant, a crack sounded under him as his leg crumpled, and he fell._

"_Sammy!" Sam heard his brother call his name, heard the frantic quality of his voice as vibrations under him confirmed his brother streaking toward him. Dean's hands were suddenly all over him, checking his forehead, running over his chest, inspecting his head. "Sam! Sammy, are you hurt? Tell me, tell me right now! Please, please, you have to be ok Sammy…"_

"_Dean…" Sam's heart was pounding, and he suddenly felt pain blossoming in his leg. Looking down, he could see crimson starting to stain his jeans. "Dean, my leg…"_

_Suddenly Dean was shirtless, and a wadded t-shirt was being pressed against his leg. Dean's face came swinging into Sam's view. Eyes wide, he commanded Sam's attention. "Everything's going to be ok Sammy. You're going to be alright. I've got you." One hand still pressed on Sam's leg, he took out his emergency cell Dad had left, and dialed 911. Sam could hear his voice shaking. "Hello. My brother fell out of a tree and might have broke his leg. Yes. Yes, we're at Crescent Park. Ok. Ok." Sam watched as Dean hung up and dialed again. His brows were in a tight v, tighter even than when he called the paramedics. "Dad? Yeah, yeah, calm down, we're ok. Well, kind of. We were at the park and Sam might've broke his leg…Yes sir. I…yes sir. I'm sorry Da-. Ok. Ok."_

_Dean hung up the phone and bit his lip. Sam didn't know what Dad had said, but clearly it'd upset him. He took Dean's hand in his and squeezed. Dean looked at him in shock. "It'll be ok Dean. I have you."_

Sam could remember that day like it was yesterday. They'd been taken to the hospital, and Dean had held his hand in the ambulance, all the way to the hospital. He'd had surgery, and afterwards Dean had stayed by his side like a magnet attracted to its opposite charge. He read to him each night, and everyday he brought a new gas station candy bar for Sam. 

Their dad had come eventually, of course. He had taken Dean out to the hall, and Sam could hear the timbre of their voices from his hospital bed. When the two returned, Dean was much more subdued, and it took Sam's best puppy dog eyes to cheer him up. His father sat in the chair on the opposite side, silent but worried. When they left two days later, Sam knew the reason his father didn't leave for longer than a few days. 

Dean gave a large gasp of pain, and Sam was whisked out of his thoughts. His brother's eyes were fluttering open, and a quick glance showed why – Bobby was a quarter of the way done with the stitches on Dean's gaping gash. His eyes popped open and his mouth gaped, and Sam found himself fighting to keep his brother flat as he struggled to sit upright. 

"Whoa, hold your horses boy! Jesus Sam, calm him down before he hurts himself," grunted Bobby, his hands holding down Dean's flailing legs. Sam was trying – he had as much weight as he could put on Dean without hurting him further. He wasn't totally sure his brother knew where he was, or what was happening, but he obviously knew he was in pain. 

"Dean," exclaimed Sam. "Dean, everything's going to be ok. You're going to be alright. I've got you. Dean, calm down." Slowly but surely, Sam's voice seemed to be coming through to him. Dean's movements became slower and less frantic, finally slowing to stop. His breathing, at first loud and verging on hyperventilation, returned to its shallow rasping. 

"Son of a bitch," came Dean's rasping reply, and Sam couldn't help but let out a strangled laugh. His brother was awake, and his brothers crude words were sweet music to Sam's ears. Sam didn't realize it, but those were the words he'd been hoping for – the words to confirm his brother was still his brother, and nothing had changed. He was hurt, yes, but he was still Dean. 

"Obviously you're in pain," Sam said bemusedly. 

His brother shrugged and then winced. "Thank you Captain Obvious. I knew we kept you around for something Sammy." 

Sam couldn't help but chuckle as he shook his head in bemusement. His brother was awake for a minute and already he was cracking jokes to mask the pain. But that was what he thought Sam needed, and sometimes, Sam just couldn't help but play along. "Please. Someone's got to be the attractive one around here." 

Dean rolled his eyes. "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. I'm on the verge of death and I'm still 500% hotter than you." 

Sam snorted his disagreement. "Ok Dean. Whatever you say. I'd say on the verge of death is exaggerating a little, but you do certainly seem to have a death wish." At that he fell silent. In truth, he was still angry at Dean for this whole stupid situation. 

"I don't have a death wish Sam. It was my fault Sara got involved in this mess, and it was my responsibility to find her. She wouldn't have been a target if I hadn'tve walked into that bar." 

At this Bobby finally made a sound from beside Sam, and he was surprised to hear the older man let loose a low growl. "Boy, are you stupid? No, that was insensitive, my bad. I asked you to stop being stupid without realizing how incredibly difficult it must be for you. If you would've waited one measly hour for me to actually _do_ something with the info _you_ found me, you would've gone in with a weapon against Achlys and not had your ass handed to you! Why in the world do you think we research?" 

Dean furrowed his brow and glared at Bobby from the cot. "Achlys didn't hand my ass to me. A demon and Eris did." 

Now it was Sam's turn to look confused. "There was no one else there Dean. Achlys was the only one we saw." 

Dean's intense green eyes swung to look at him. "Achlys was the only one when you guys got there. Eris and her demon bitch boy musta smoked out of there when she heard you guys stomping around." 

"Yeah, and if you idjit hadn'ta bailed and decided to fly solo, maybe you wouldn't have been bitch's boys bitch," Bobby ground out. Sam waved his comment away with his hand – what Dean said was starting to sink in, and he didn't like the sound of what he was hearing. 

"So Achlys didn't hurt you? Dean, who's Eris, and why did she hurt you? What happened down in that cellar?" 

Dean sighed heavily. "Like I said, Achlys didn't hurt me. She just stood off the side, didn't hardly even talk. Eris was the goddess who was working with Achlys, apparently. She got the victims for Achlys, in the bar where I met Sara. And she didn't really hurt me, that was mainly the demon." 

At Dean's words, Bobby turned thoughtful, the anger seeming to ebb out of him. "Eris, you said? I've heard of her. One messed up, old chick. She's one of the ancient Greek goddesses, been around a little shorter time than Death. From what I hear, she was locked up tight in Tartarus for the last, I dunno, 200 some-odd years." 

Sam stared at Bobby. This was almost too much to wrap his head around. "Eris? So she's loose now? Why exactly is she so dangerous?" 

Bobby fixed Sam with an exasperated look. "Eris, goddess of discord? Supposedly caused the Trojan war with the Apple of Discord because she wasn't invited to a wedding. Apparently she's right up there with War, the horseman." 

"I don't know about all that. You probably don't remember her Sam – she was the woman in purple, in the back," interjected Dean. 

Sam didn't remember, but then, he had other things on his mind at the time, namely how pissed he was at Dean. That seemed to be a common trend during this case. He was more concerned with Eris and the implications behind her. "Dean, why didn't she kill you and Sara like all the others?" 

"God, I don't know Sam, maybe she just wanted to get in my pa—wait, Sara. How is she? Is she ok?" At the mention of Sara, Dean started struggling to get up again, his head swiveling around the room to get a glimpse of the blonde. Both Sam and Bobby's hands were already pushing down as he struggled against them. 

"Dean, calm down. She's fine. She's still out, but Ellen said she's doing great." 

"How badly is she hurt?" Dean calmed down marginally, letting their hands press him back into the cot. Sam could see the pain of just moving taking its toll on Dean – he wouldn't admit it, but the tightening of his jaw, the furrow of his brow, and the tension in his body belied his true condition. 

"Not too badly. About the same as you." Sam was keeping it light, keeping the injuries nondescript and the details withdrawn from his older brother. 

Dean groaned. "Well that's super positive. Because I feel like I've just rolled in a field of daisies." Sam exchanged a meaningful look with Bobby. Dean even alluding to the fact that he was in pain was far more significant that it might be with other people. He wasn't denying the pain like he usually did, which Sam took to mean the pain was mounting to inhuman levels. Bobby casually walked away, and Sam quietly sighed as Dean didn't question it. 

Sam was trying his hardest to keep the banter out of the maudlin range, but he couldn't help but slip a little in. "Man, one of these days, you're gonna get really hurt, and I'm going to have to say I told you so." 

Dean gave a little wave of his hand, as if to brush away the semi-sensitive comment. "Haha, you wish. Someone's gottta keep you on your toes Sammy." Typical Dean. 

Sam sighed. "There's a difference between keeping me on my toes and giving me a heart attack." 

Bobby meandered back, trying to look casual as he slipped the morphine into the IV. Dean angled his head. "Hey, what are you doing?" 

Bobby's whiskered face twitched as he suppressed a grin. "Just a little something to give you a little shuteye." 

Dean's eyes were already starting to flutter as the drug slipped into his veins. "You…son ofa bishhh…" Sam could visibly see all his tensed muscles relaxing as he slipped under. The hard lines on his brothers face vanished, and Sam was suddenly looking at a face that looked at least 5 years younger. His older brothers face never looked so relaxing, so peaceful as when he was sleeping. It pained Sam to visibly see the stress and the burdens Dean let himself carry around, like weights pulling him down. 

Bobby patted him on the shoulder, his eyes on Dean too. "He needed it. Rest is the best thing for him right now, even if he fights it every step of the way. I'd drug him more often if I could." Sam could hear the underlying affection under Bobby's gruff words. 

"Me too. At least he seemed alright," Sam mused. Dean really did seem lively, awake, and himself, which was more than Sam could hope for. 

His thoughts wandered to the new problem they now dealt with – Eris. Now that he'd thought about it, he'd heard about Eris in one of his Greek mythology classes, but as a hunter, it wasn't something he'd come across. Which made sense, if she'd been hidden away for the past 200 years. But now…the Apocalypse and the rising of Lucifer had apparently shaken her loose from Tartarus. 

This was his fault. If he hadn't have listened to Ruby and killed Lilith, his brother wouldn't be lying next to him, broken and bruised.

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**TBC- Please read, review, favorite, follow... :)**


	13. TakingStepsIsEasy,Standing Still is Hard

**A/N- Another chapter, this time from Bobby's POV! I grudged and grumbled about writing from his eyes, but as it turns out, I like writing from his crotchety POV. He has a way of seeing right through things and calling bullshit that I love. And also, I realized a minor mistake I made. At this point in canon, Bobby's supposed to be in a wheelchair and have a bed instead of a couch. Now that I realize it, it's actually a bit more than a minor mistake. However, at this point, I've already written Bobby walking and people sitting on his couch and such, and I don't feel the tremendous need to go back and change it. So, for my purposes, Bobby for some reason has use of his legs. Sorry for the slip up :/ Thanks again to those who reviewed - AlaskaForever, you are a doll. **

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Chaper 13

Bobby couldn't help but grumble to himself as he put away his precious stock of morphine. He had seven of the little glass bottles left, and that was not enough of safety blanket in his opinion. It's not like the stuff was an especially rare commodity, but he was no doctor and to get the stock he had built up, he had to go through several channels and trade in favors that he would rather save for a rainier day. He had enough sense to know that you saved those up, especially in the middle of the damn Apocalypse. 

But other people, namely hunters, didn't always appreciate his thrifty attitude. With them, it was always all hands on deck, give me what you got ASAP, all the time. 'Give me what you got Bobby'. 'Look this up for me Bobby'. All day, every day, the phones never stopped ringing and Bobby rarely was away from his books long enough to eat meals himself. He understood the cause (hunting the evil sons of bitches that the Apocalypse had caused was no easy feat, and hunting was about as hands on as it got), but occasionally he wished the seasoned men in his field would use the brains God gave them for a little more thinking than just aiming a gun. 

He loitered around the door into the living room, observing in silence as Sam sat vigil over his inert brother. Those two…Right now, he couldn't even pin point the strongest emotion he felt at the moment towards the brothers. Everything was vying for his attention at once. 

On one hand, he was pissed. Oh, was he pissed. They had expressly told Dean they were close to a solution, to finding a weapon they could use on Achlys. And what did the idjit do instead? He'd gone anyways, no plan of attack, no nothing, and now he was lying in Bobby's living room far too battered for Bobby's taste. He was pissed at the kid for making him and his brother worry – especially his brother. He may have stood in for their absentee father a long time ago, but Sam was more than just a brother to Dean. They were more like yin and yang, two pieces of a whole that couldn't be separated without leaving damage to both of them. God, the two were practically married. 

On the other hand, he sympathized. He didn't just understand Sam's emotions, he also understood Dean's, as much as he hated to admit it. Maybe it was part of being their semi-surrogate dad, or maybe it was the fact that he had once loved a woman enough that he would do anything to save her too. What Dean may have done was beyond stupid (it was reckless to a fault, in fact), but it was also sparked a little something in Bobby's heart that had been dead for a long time. 

It was who Dean was to save people, even at a cost to himself, but Bobby had an inkling of a feeling that it was something a little more. And that thought in itself made Bobby both proud and nervous. Proud because Bobby had never seen Dean pursue a long term relationship. Nervous because he had never seen Dean pursue a long term relationship. Dean had always taken a hunters approach to women, admiring them but never for longer than a well-spent night. It was easier that way, most of the time. But Bobby also understood the difficulties, possible better than anyone. Having someone who he'd lost to this life before he was even in it himself…sometimes he didn't blame John for turning out the way he did. Only sometimes. 

All Bobby knew was that Sara had to be something special for her to hold Dean's steady attention. He drifted quietly over to where Ellen and Jo were finishing up stitching her wound as she lay unconscious on the couch. Looking down at her, he couldn't help but size the small girl up. He could certainly see how she would catch Dean's eye initially. A cascade of blonde, straight locks fell over the couch, the tips brushing the questionable carpet. She wasn't tan (no one in South Dakota really was), but she wasn't pale either, and her cheeks were a light pink. Long, dark lashes swept over clear skin, and her straight nose had a light dusting of freckles across the bridge. Bobby had seen pictures of Mary, and Sara was just as beautiful. 

"You guys about finished," Bobby asked in a low voice. Ellen and Jo both turned to look at him, and gave nods of their heads. He could see the weariness settling in the lines on Ellen's forehead and the corners of Jo's lips. He couldn't blame them. Hints of light were starting to show outside, as it started to transition from night to dawn. All that sounded good right now was sleep or a fresh batch of coffee. Maybe some whiskey… 

"Alright, you ladies go ahead and get some shut eye. We're good here." His eyes gestured to the beds upstairs, which were open and ready for people to sleep on them. At least some people could get some actual rest, even if it wasn't him. 

"Robert Singer, we aren't just going to leave you two to fend for yourselves. We'll be in the kitchen makin some coffee if you need anything," retorted Ellen in that no-nonsense voice of hers. Bobby saw Jo give her mom an exasperated look before they both headed into the kitchen. Stubborn woman. Oh well. He certainly wasn't going to sleep. 

"Maybe I could get some of that?" Bobby spun around, and behind him, he could hear Sam doing the same. Sara's soft voice, inflected upward with the question, seemed as loud as a shout in the quiet room. Of course, it could be the fact that Bobby wasn't expecting her to be a functional human being for quite some time. But there she was, sitting up on the couch as if she'd been awake the whole time, her piercing blue eyes fixed on him. Bobby had to admit, he was slightly unnerved. 

"Well hey there. I don't know about coffee, but I can hook you up with some water." An eyebrow raised, but she nodded nonetheless. Bobby sidled into the kitchen, filling a glass with tap water, his mind somewhat frazzled. 

Returning, he found Sam settling into a chair next to Sara's couch. He couldn't blame the kid – he was more than a little curious about the girl whose great blue eyes could rival Cas's wide stare. He could practically see the gears running in Sam's mind. Handing her the glass, he took a step back. She gave him a small smile over the rim, and took a small sip. 

Bobby stayed silent – he knew Sam was bursting with questions but was also trying to play it cool and give Sara a little space after the ordeal Dean and her had been through. He knew the kid would break soon though. True to his prediction, Sam spoke up quietly the next moment. "How're you feeling?". Caring, that's what Sam did best. 

Her eyes slid from Bobby's to Sam's in one smooth move, and she seemed to roll over her thoughts before she let them out. "Good, I guess. Whoever stitched my leg up did a good job." 

Sam clasped his hands together, twiddling his thumbs in no particular rhythm as he watched Sara. "That was Ellen. And you didn't just injure your leg – you've got possible breaks on your arm, knee and hip, and a definite concussion. Are you feeling any pain?" 

Sara raised her bandaged arm in response, and tapped on her bandaged forehead. "Don't worry, I noticed. And like I said either, I really am good." 

Bobby decided it was his turn. "Honey, you're not _good_. You were severely beaten not more than a few hours ago, and you've got to be in a mountain of pain. It's alright to admit that." 

Her eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly. "Listen, I'm fine. When I say that, I'm not joking. Dean is the one who needs your medical attention, not me. He shouldn't have even been there." 

Bobby turned and met Sam's shocked eyes. Sara's stubborn attitude was giving Dean's bullheadedness a run for its money. "I agree, he shouldn'tve been there, but he was also saving you, so I think we can all agree it needed to be done." 

She shook her head vehemently. "He should _not_ have come. I had a plan, and I had it handled until he showed up. He just put himself in harms way for no reason." 

Bobby was getting angry now. She really was a little too much like Dean – she was pushing his buttons in all the right places. She had no clue what she was up against, none at all, and yet still she insisted that she was in the right. "You had a plan did you? You had it all figured out? Listen, I don't know what kind of situations you normally get into in your free time, but you had no clue what you were dealing with. Dean may have been an idiot in going after you, but I can assure you he knows what he's doing." His voice seemed to increase in strength until he was fairly sure the conversation in the kitchen ceased. 

She looked at him for a moment, and as a hunter he knew when he was being sized up… analyzed. Especially by someone who knew what they were looking for. Her next words only solidified his suspicions in concrete. "Listen, _Bobby_, I knew what I was up against. You can stop dancing around the subject like a scared little girl. There was a demon there, and two major goddesses, Achlys and Eris. I'm not an idiot, so you can stop treating me like one." 

The sliding door to the kitchen squeaked open, and both Ellen and Jo stood in the doorway. Ellen looked like she always did at the first sign of confrontation – eyes full of fire and lips tight. Bobby knew she wished she had a gun in her hand. He could also see the steel reflected in Jo's eyes, although her natural curiosity ruined the image as her eyebrows curved skyward. 

Ellen held up Sara's black leather jacket for all to see. "Interesting what you can find when you rifle through someone's pockets. What would a nice, regular bartender need with a pistol, a demon killing knife, and an angel blade?" Her other hand clenched said objects. 

Bobby's head did a quick rotation from Ellen's hardened face to Sara's. She looked shocked, but not overly so. If anything she looked… guarded, like her cover had been blown. And that's when it hit Bobby like a cement truck. _She was a hunter. _"What Dean thought was true, wasn't it?" 

Sapphire eyes met his. "And what exactly did Dean think?" Her voice was cool. 

Ready. Aim… Fire. "Dean had a suspicion you were a hunter." Judging from the look on her face, as her careful façade slipped yet again, Target is Hit. 

She sent a look toward the still sleeping hunter behind Bobby. If Bobby didn't know better, he would've guessed there was a hint of respect in her gaze. He definitely shared that opinion – if anyone was to find a hunter in a crowd, it would be Dean. Sometimes the boys senses were scary accurate. Guess that was the advantage of being raised by a man who believed in constant vigilance. 

She barked a short laugh that was devoid of humor. "As usual, full marks for Dean Winchester. As for your statement, not anymore I'm not. That hasn't been my life for a long time, and I'm not heading back anytime soon." 

Bobby was surprised and torn. Not that he didn't get it, because he did. The men (and women) in this line of work simultaneously loved and hated the job. Judging by the equipment… the girl had to have been good at one point. Good or lucky. Because he'd only ever seen one demon killing knife that Sam and Dean had, and never had he seen a hunter with an angel blade. Having an angel blade either meant killing an angel or having friends in very high places. Still… she'd taken the Sam route, which he knew many hunters hadn't. Obviously, it wasn't working out the best for her. 

Bobby was just trying to wrap his head around this. "So, you're retired. Understood, and no judgement. You haven't been hunting here, though, have you?" 

"No," she replied curtly. "I knew this was your territory, I wasn't going to intrude." 

Bobby snorted. "Sure. Getting information from you is like pulling teeth, but of course, I should believe you. How did you know this is my area?" 

She raised an eyebrow, and pointed at herself. "Hunter." Derision coated her words, and Bobby could feel tension radiating off Ellen to his right. He had to admit, she was rubbing him the wrong way too. 

To Bobby's surprise, it was Jo who decided to make her move. "Yeah, you're a hunter. But what kind of hunter are you? I disagree with Bobby – total judgement for sitting around and doing nothing in the middle of the Apocalypse. This is an all hands on deck situation, and here you are sitting on the sidelines twiddling your thumbs. This isn't a game, this is the end of the freaking world." Jo's small fists were clenched into fists at her sides, and Bobby could see why. Jo had fought to become a hunter, and here was a capable female hunter right in front of her saying she'd opted out. 

Sara stayed seated, but her lips had narrowed to a thin line. "Don't you dare judge me. You may have wanted this, but this was never what I wanted. I have people that I need to protect, people that aren't safe if I die in this fight. You think you have it rough?" Her voice, so soft when she'd woken, was now as close to a snarl as Bobby had ever heard it. 

It was Sam, who'd stayed silent for most of this, who finally rose and spoke a calming note. Bobby was definitely surprised – he'd thought Sam would pounce on the girl he once suspected, and who now knew far more than they anticipated, but instead Sam had just stared at her, like she was a mysterious ball of yarn to unravel. The girl his brother ran to save. "Alright, that's enough. Let's take it into the kitchen guys." 

Bobby nodded, and ushered in the girls to the kitchen, Sam behind him. Sara's rimrod straight back was the last thing he saw before shutting the doors. Joining everyone at the table, Bobby waited for Sam to restart, and when he didn't, he cleared his own throat. "Before we return to raised voices and shaking fists, let me put my two cents in. I personally think she's about as courteous as Dean" he received a low chuckle from Sam at that "and bullheaded to match. She's been a pain in the ass to talk to. But if we're voting on kicking her off the island, I vote she stays. It's my house, and she's hurt." 

Jo leaned forward, eyes flashing. Yup, that eye thing was definitely hereditary. "Bobby, she's a hunter. That means she's a player. Who knows what the real deal about her being in town is. Who even knows if she's human!" 

Bobby could see that Ellen was trying to resist being baited by her daughters words, but it was obvious she agreed with her daughters frame of mind. Finally, Bobby could see the moment she caved. "Jo's got a point Bobby. You have to admit, her happening to find Dean in this town and just happening to get kidnapped… seems like a little bit more than a coincidence to me." 

Sam stared at a beer bottle between his hands, eyes seemingly captivated by the lip before turning his eyes to Ellen. "You make a good point. But I think you should remember, by the sounds of it, Eris had been camped out at that bar for a while getting victims before we showed up. Maybe it was Dean going into that bar that put a target on her head. After all, you have to admit, we get our fair amount of supernatural attention just because we're vessels." 

Ellen's head dipped to acknowledge Sam's reasoning. Good. Bobby was glad they were keeping this civil. "True. I'll give you that. But that doesn't explain how she had an exact replica of your demon knife and the angel blade." 

"Who are we to question every weapon a hunter has on his person, Ellen," reasoned Bobby. "It's a personal thing, and she has rights not to answer. I personally have quite a few things hidden… here and about. Hunters are nothing if not paranoid." He caught Sam's eye and Sam ducked his head as he tried his hardest to suppress a grin. 

Sam spoke after clearing his throat a few too many times for Bobby's taste. "I'm vouching for her. I know I had my suspicions, and honestly, I still do. She seems to know too much. But Dean vouched for her, and that's good enough for me. Besides, if she's as good as she sounds, maybe she'd be a good ally to have in the middle of this mess." 

They all sat in contemplative silence for a moment. Bobby could tell everyone's mind was thinking as fast as his was, trying to come to terms with what they'd said about Sara. Bobby personally though Sam had a good point. If Sara could bring it upon herself to come out of retirement and join their crazy crusade against the devil himself, then Bobby would definitely say yes to the girl with the knife and the blade. A little experienced help could go a long way, and while he'd never seen the girl in action, he had a suspicion that she was nothing to be trifled with. 

Ellen was the first one to speak. "I think me and Jo are going to call it a night. We can talk about this further tomorrow." With a nod to Bobby and Sam, her and her daughter rose and departed from the table, talking in soft whispers as they took the stairs to their room. 

Sam rose too. "I'm gonna go back in Bobby. I don't think I can sleep right now." Bobby took a look at the kids face, and nodded. Sam wasn't going to be torn away from Dean right now, Bobby could see that. Without a word he stood and followed Sam into the quiet living room. 

They both blinked in surprise when the sliding door opened. Somehow in the time they'd left, Dean had been transferred to the couch and the cot had up and vanished. Sara was sleeping in an armchair across from the couch, her head tilted up against the side and her breathing coming out in little breaths. Her arms were wrapped around her knees in front of her. 

Bobby shook his head. Why was he even surprised anymore?

* * *

**TBC- The story is far from over :) To all you ghost readers out there - please review. It motivates me and keeps me wanting to continue this story!**


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